La Belle et la Bête
by SylvieT
Summary: A lazy afternoon between Gil and Sara turns playful and into a night to remember in more ways than one. Mild, mild spoiler for season 10, only if you don't already know Grissom's whereabouts. A bit of fluff, a wee bit of angst, and a lot of love.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay. I've never done this before – fluff, I mean – but this little story was bugging me. We're all buzzing from Sara's return on the show and wondering what went on between our favourite couple while in Paris. This is my take on one romantic afternoon. I apologise if at times I laid it on too thick! Let me know in a review, I would greatly appreciate the comments.

* * *

Oh, Paris! France, the wine, the food, the history and museums, the parks and the beautiful people – the beautiful _women_. By far, the most romantic city in the world…

_Or so they say_, thought Sara.

She was thinking about the man – _her_ man – propped up on one elbow alongside her when she felt something soft land on her shoulder.

_A butterfly maybe?_

"Shit!" _Literally._ Sara looked up from the book she had been reading to stare with disgust at the bird poo on her bare shoulder.

"Shouldn't that have been _merde_?" Gil corrected, his tone amused – a little too amused for Sara's liking – glancing up from the travel guide he had been perusing. He was trying hard but failing miserably to stifle the grin tugging at his lips.

Gil and Sara had spent the best part of the afternoon lazily lying on a blanket on the Champs de Mars.

"I could get used to this," Sara mused aloud, as she used the handkerchief Gil had kindly held out to wipe the poop off. When she finished she handed it back to him, his chivalry rewarded by her brightest cheeky grin.

"Mmm…" He eyed the offending article suspiciously before giving a carefree shrug. "Merci," he replied cheerfully. He lifted his right buttock off the ground and shoved the hanky in his navy Bermuda shorts' back pocket.

Returning his attention to his travel guide he asked, "What could you get used to?" There was no mistaking the glint in his eyes as he peered over his glasses. "Being a bird's-"

He didn't get to finish his statement though as Sara's deathly stare silenced him. "No, dear. Being here – with you. Doing nothing. I like it."

"I give you two weeks."

Sara shrugged and looked up skyward toward the top of the nearby Eiffel Tower. For Gil, who had been offered a stint as a lecturer at the world-renowned Sorbonne this was hardly a holiday. She on the other hand had nothing better to do than lose herself in this place; in the museums, the art galleries and all the places she was reading about.

On his days-off they would take long slow strolls along the banks of the Seine watching as the bateaux-mouche, the river's slow tourist boats, softly slipped past them; they would marvel at the monuments and architecture; they would sit on benches in the many parks and watch as the Parisians went about their busy lives or as today, bask in the Parisian sunshine content in each other's company.

Despite the frantic pace, the horrendous traffic accompanied by a strangely nicely-choreographed cacophony of car horns, and let's not forget, birds pooping on her, there was an air of calm, of serenity to the city.

Sara liked it. She felt at peace there.

"Did you know that we're sitting – literally – on the site of a massacre? Some French peasants seeking the head of King Louis XVI during the French Revolution?"

Startled out of her reverie, Sara slowly turned her head toward her husband, her eyes and facial expression unable to disguise her quietly-exasperated incredulity. "Gil, are you deliberately trying to be obtuse or are you simply trying…to kill the mood?"

"What mood?"

"Come on. Even _you_ must _feel_ the…the positive energy, the harmony, the _looove_ emanating from our surroundings. Just look around you!"

"Oh! _Looove_," he repeated mimicking her tone. "I get it. It's _looove_ you want. Well, in that case, I have just the right place for us. It says in my guide that we should-"

"Nuh, nuh," Sara said, shaking her head and suppressing a cold shiver although it was late August. "I'm not going anywhere your guide recommends."

"What's wrong with my guide?" he said innocently, banging it shut to look at the front cover. _Paris: History & Mystery. Explores historic areas and haunted buildings; Reveals Paris's history in all its gore and glory._ He twitched his lips into a satisfied smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Told you it'd make you feel right at home."

The last comment earned Gil a playful punch in the arm. "I draw the line at calling piled-up hundreds-of-year-old bones and skulls fun," she said. "Of all the romantic places you could have taken me to in Paris, you chose the Catacombs." Secretly, Sara had enjoyed her foray into the three hundred-year-old underground quarries turned into cemeteries but she would never, never admit as much to Gil. She would milk his lack of romance for all it was worth.

"I've always been fascinated by the French's efficiency."

"Is that what you call it? Efficiency? Moving all their dead from over-filled disease-plagued cemeteries and relocating the remains into subterranean mines for storage?"

"See? I knew you were paying attention. I know that secretly, you liked it. I could tell from the way your nose twitches when you're absorbing facts."

Sara's eyebrows shot up. "From the way my nose does what?"

"Twitches. Your nose twitches. Everyone knows that. I know that. See? I may not know how to…seduce a woman but I sure know how to woo you, ma chérie."

Sara snorted at that comment. "Please, will the real Gil Grissom please stand up!"

And he did.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "Trust me. You will love this place. I guarantee it."

Gil pulled Sara up to her feet with more force than was strictly necessary, propelling her up into his awaiting arms. He tilted his head to the side and brushed off some dried-up grass imbedded in her hair. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine. He locked his gaze onto hers and smiled. He was leaning in to kiss her when Sara swatted him away.

"I know what you're doing, Gilbert and you don't need to try so hard. You're preaching to the converted. All right, I'll come with. Where are you taking me?"

Gil tapped his nose with his finger, winking. "Patience, my dear."

They swiftly packed up their stuff and when they had finished Gil held out his hand. She misunderstood his gesture and shrugged before passing him the backpack. He shook his head at her in amusement and held out his other hand.

Sara gave out a chuckle realising her mistake. She smiled goofily tucking her hand in Gil's much bigger one. He squeezed it tight, caught her eye, smiling mischievously at her. He took off running across the vast green expanse of the park toward the Métro station, tugging her forward.

Two trains and twenty minutes later, Gil and Sara emerged hand in hand from the underground into the bright sunlight.

Sara stopped dead in her tracks, holding Gil back. She was looking up in awe at the purer than white round building at the top of the hill. The sun was glinting off the surface creating an illusion of mirage. "Gil, it's beautiful."

Gil smiled knowingly but he wasn't marvelling at the same sight. "Yeah, it is," he whispered softly.

Intrigued by his quiet, almost subdued tone – he was generally more effervescent and eloquent when describing a building of this magnitude – Sara turned toward him, an inquiring frown on her face. She found him watching her intently. "_You_ are beautiful, Sara," he murmured. "Thank you for coming here with me."

"I trust you," she simply said. "Besides, I'm starting to think your guide's not so bad after all."

"I wasn't talking about this."

Sara frowned in confusion.

"Thank you for accepting to come here. For following me to Paris."

"If I remember correctly, you followed me first."

Gil nodded. "And I'll never regret that decision. Best thing I ever did in my life." He brought his hand to her face, cupping her cheek. He bent down near and whispered in her ear, "Je t'aime, Sara."

Feeling Gil's breath so near her skin caused her to shiver. She looked up and kissed him chastely on the lips. "I love you to, you goofball."

"Now, who's killing the mood?"

Sara was grinning, lost in the deep blue of his eyes. "Steps or funiculaire?" she asked quietly.

Gil took his eyes off Sara long enough to glance at the hill and the 237 steps zigzagging their way up to the top to reach the Basilica of the Sacré Coeur. He returned his attention to Sara, lifting both eyebrows in challenge.

Sara registered a half-second of surprise before taking off running toward the bottom of the steps.

"That's not fair; I wasn't ready," he called after her.

She turned round, jogging backwards, laughing. "When in France as they say…You snooze, you lose."

"Well, we'll see about that."

But instead of following Sara up the stairs, Gil made his way to the funiculaire, paid his fare and waited. He waited and waited some more. Until he could just about make out Sara's outline already half-way up. _Damn…maybe not such a bright idea after all! _At long last, he felt the long-awaited jolt as they departed, quickly making up lost ground. He waved mischievously at a panting Sara as he almost reached the top.

Oh, if the look she threw him then could have spoken. But instead of giving up, she renewed her efforts and made it to the top first. She was waiting – albeit breathing hard – very hard – when he finally joined her, after helping an old lady disembark. She threw him a look of pure satisfaction as she squared her shoulders proudly.

"I was afraid of knocking her over in my haste," he offered in guise of explanation, shrugging. He pulled the backpack off his shoulder and took out the bottle of water. Sara was already holding out her hand, mouthing grateful thanks at his thoughtfulness when at the last minute, Gil brought the bottle to his lips and took a long slow swig. "Mmm…I needed that."

"Hey," Sara said, not in the least taken with his teasing, "What's gotten into you, today?"

"Must be something in the water," he shrugged passing her the bottle, "besides the chemicals, of course." He paused, his expression turning serious. "I'm happy, Sara." He smiled shyly as though he had just made the discovery. "You make me happy."

He took her hand, clasping it tight and they walked up the remaining steps to the top of Montmartre like a multitude of other couples were doing. They turned and leaned against the balustrade and marvelled at the jaw-dropping panoramic view of Paris's roof tops and monuments. No words were needed; the scenery spoke for itself.

"My mother used to tell me stories about this place," Gil said after a while taking his eyes off the view. "It was one of her dreams to come here. Come on, let's go inside."

Even though Sara wasn't a Catholic or even remotely religious she felt truly humbled as soon as she set foot inside the church. The main nave was surrounded by many small chapels dedicated to Saints, each with its lit candles and offerings. Gil tapped her on the shoulder, pointing upwards to the roof and Sara couldn't help gasp at the sheer beauty of the cupola. He took her hand in his, squeezing it warmly and they began walking around the small basilica side by side in awe of their surroundings. Gil stopped and fished out a few coins from his Bermuda shorts pocket and fed them into the urn.

"Take a candle Sara. Make a wish."

"What about you?"

He shook his head softly. _I don't need to. I have everything I wish for._

Sara lit the candle, closed her eyes and made her wish before lovingly looking up to Gil and nodding toward the exit. They stepped out into the bright sunshine both reaching for their sunglasses at the same time. Gil's hand found its way back into Sara's almost immediately and he led her down the few steps round the side of the church. Sara tugged him back, stopping him mid-stride. Gil turned round a frown on his face.

"Thank you," Sara whispered, rising on her tiptoes to brush his lips with a soft kiss.

"What for?"

"For bringing me here; for sharing this with me…" She shrugged all the other reasons off. Smiling shyly, she added, "Je t'aime."

Gil smiled back, winking. He reached his hand up to her face and ever so softly brushed his finger on her cheek. "Come on," he said, "there's one more thing I want to show you while we're in the neighbourhood."

* * *

A/N: More?


	2. Chapter 2

A couple of side streets later, Sara slowed down her strolling, removing her sunglasses. She looked to her surroundings adjusting her eyes to the shaded light of the sun-obscured narrow cobbled streets, flanked by dull, grey apartment buildings. The only colour brightening up the street came from the soft reds and blues of the painted wooden shutters on the windows and of flowers dangling down from window pots.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" she asked with laughter in her voice.

Gil turned round, smiling. "I thought you said you trusted me."

"I do. I do. It's just…" Sara looked back to where they'd come from, "we seem to have lost the tourist trail and-"

"You doubt my ability to follow a trail?" he asked with an inquisitive arch of his brow and a sad pout.

Sara pinched her lips together to stop herself from bursting out laughing. Was that him reacting as a typical man or as a CSI? _An ex-CSI,_ she reminded herself. "No, No. I trust you."

"Glad to hear it!" They carried on walking hand in hand until they rounded the corner and Gil stopped, announcing proudly, "La Place du Tertre."

Sara gasped, tightening her grasp on Gil's hand as she took it all in. At first glance, it looked like an old-fashioned open-air market square with rows of stalls under brightly-coloured umbrellas and parasols with hordes of tourists milling around. But it wasn't the kind of French markets Sara had visited on her previous wanders. No. It was an outdoor art gallery with the artists displaying their work for free and for everyone to admire.

_No wonder Gil's mother dreamed of coming to this place_, Sara mused.

Although the place was saturated with people, Sara could feel the same air of calm that permeated Paris. She imagined that if they had been standing there fifty years ago, it would have been pretty much the same; it was as though the place hadn't moved with the times as the rest of Paris had. This place had a very French bohemian look and feel to it.

Yet again, Gil had managed to take her breath away. She stood mesmerised on the fringe of it all, eyes wide reflecting the reds and yellows and greens of the square. She was grinning. "I've read about this place," she murmured transfixed. She turned and looked toward her husband. "How did you know?"

Gil smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. He shrugged a little self-consciously. "My travel guide," he said. Met with Sara's disbelieving stare, he explained, "Apparently, some of these apartments are haunted by the spectres of artists past. Their spirits live on. It was the Mecca of modern art in the nineteen-forties; this place saw the birth of movements from Impressionism to Cubism to Fauvism to Surrealism," he smiled a little sheepishly. "It's all in the guide. You ought to give it a try."

"I'd much rather hear it from you."

Sara stood dithering, uncertain whether she should break the spell and venture into the crowd when Gil made the decision for her.

"Come on. Let's go investigate; see what all the fuss is about."

Most of the artists weren't even particularly talented but there oozed a magic from the place that had Sara gawking.

"Look," she whispered loudly, giggling, "This one thinks he's Picasso." She nudged Gil's shoulder, nodding toward one of the thickly-moustachioed street artist painting under his colourful umbrella. So far, they'd encountered two Dali look-alikes and this one made it four Picassos.

Gil nodded. "Talking of Picasso, did you know that he used to live in one of the apartments over there?" he said, pointing to a shabby-looking grey building across the square. "That's where, it is believed, he-" He stopped talking abruptly, his attention distracted by a little curly blond-haired girl – she couldn't have been older than three – trying very hard to sit very straight on the next artist's very tall stool. Her bare legs were dangling, not reaching the ground and she was posing, beaming her best grin.

Gil stilled, enchanted by the sight and Sara leaned in closer to see what had so suddenly captured her husband's attention. He was so engrossed in watching the portrait the artist was chalking that he completely forgot all about what he was saying. The latter was just about to get started on the feature that had caught Gil's attention in the first place: the little girl's smile. It was just like Sara's.

"This one's good," Grissom told Sara after a moment observing the artist and his work. He turned round to find Sara grinning, entranced by the same little girl. Grissom's heart filled with love as he looked on wistfully.

Her sitting over, the little girl jumped off the stool into her mother's arms, saying, "Maman, je peux avoir mon bonbon maintenant?"

Sara burst out laughing. "Did I hear her right?"

"Think so," Gil replied equally as amused. He resumed walking with Sara soon falling in his step. "If _I_ promise you a sweet, will you sit still long enough for the man to do your portrait?"

Sara arched her brow, feigning reflection before shaking her head in the negative.

"An ice cream?" he asked, his tone inquiring yet in the way he said it, it was clear that Gil knew he had Sara in the palm of his hand.

Sara swayed her head in ambivalence before narrowing her gaze at him. "Chantilly cream on top?"

Gil shrugged pulling a face that seemed to say "It's entirely up to you, my dear."

"All right. Deal."

Just as she was uttering the words, Gil stopped dead in his tracks, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. He motioned with his head towards a painter, silently enquiring whether this one would do.

Sara merely shrugged her shoulders. _It doesn't matter much to me. The result will be the same._

"C'est combien pour faire le portrait de Mademoiselle?" Gil asked in his best shaky French, earning him an appreciative head bow from the artist. He leaned in close to Sara and whispered, "The French like it when we try to speak their lingo. You should try it."

But Sara wasn't listening to Grissom's little aside. _Mademoiselle?_ _Has he already forgotten we're married?_

The Frenchman looked up from his easel. "Euh…pour la jolie dame? Forty euros," he said in perfect, if rather stilted and heavily accentuated English.

Gil beamed proudly at the comment. "I give you twenty," he replied almost immediately, all businesslike. The man shook his head no.

_Is he bartering?_

"What?" he said, on noticing Sara's rather put-out expression. "My guide says we should haggle." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's expected."

_Am I a piece of meat?_

"Besides, the money I'm saving will pay for the ice creams."

Grissom took some bills out of his wallet and returned his attention to the artist, lifting his eyebrows in silent query. "Twenty-five euros and it's my last offer," he said, flashing his cash. The Frenchman shrugged a Gallic shrug, smiling.

"Come on Sara," Gil said, giddy with excitement. "The man and I have come to an understanding."

Sara let out a sigh, smiling at the painter. While she was taking her place on the stool, Gil had a quiet word with the man, who pulled a facial shrug before nodding his head with more fervour than Sara would have liked. She made an inquiring face at her husband, who merely smiled innocently back.

Under Sara's unsuspecting eye, the artist swapped his chalk for a black felt-tip pen and clipped over his big A5 size sketch sheet a postcard-sized one. He studied Sara at length and got started on his masterpiece.

When he had finished – and to Sara's amazement it took him no longer than five minutes– she got up to look at the finished picture but Gil snatched it off the man, thanking him profusely before quickly moving away from Sara.

Sara caught up to her husband and reached up to get the picture but Gil help it out of her reach.

"Gil," she said in a warning tone.

He knew that tone. It was the same tone his mother used to use when he was a kid, when she _accidentally_ stumbled upon one of his unfinished _experiment_. The women in his life were strong, independent women and as was the case with his mother then, he had no choice but to comply and own up to his little subterfuge.

He heaved a great sigh, bringing his hand down to show Sara her picture. She burst out laughing.

"I wanted to use it as a postcard to send to the guys back home," he said rather sheepishly.

"Are you kidding me?" Sara asked, gawking at the caricature in her hand. Her forehead was three times its normal size; her mouth or rather lips were so luscious that they covered half her face, as for her eyes they were rather googly. "God, I look like Mr Magoo. Mr Magoo with hair."

"You're not mad?"

She shook her head. "Put your money where your mouth is," Sara said, making a bee-line for a nearby ice cream van intent on ordering her well-deserved three-scooped, chantilly-covered cornet. "I'll deal with you later!" she added with a waggle of her brow.

But Gil had other ideas and slipped his hand into hers, leading her in the opposite direction toward the bright red canopy of the terrace of a café overlooking the whole of the square.

Ten minutes later and they were seated at a round table, so small that their knees were touching, perusing their respective menus. When they had ordered, Sara excused herself to go to the ladies while Grissom resumed people watching. On her return, she found that although Gil was still turned toward the square, his previous carefree relaxed gaze and expression had shifted. He looked a little sad. His body was there but his mind was somewhere else, lost a million miles away.

Sara gently tapped him on the arm as she sat back down but he didn't respond. "Gil?" she called softly. "Is everything all right?"

Gil slowly turned his head, shaking it as he snapped out of his daydream. He smiled a little uneasily, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and took Sara's hand in his. He turned it palm up, caressed its ridges before kissing it very softly.

Sara inclined her head to the side, her lips curving downward wondering what could have darkened her husband's mood so suddenly and so unexpectedly. She reached her free hand to his face, running her fingers the length of his cheek down to the dimple on his chin before hesitantly tilting his head up so he had no choice but look at her.

He lifted his right shoulder and heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry about before," he said his voice no louder than a whisper. "That was kind of-"

"Something Greg would have done?"

Gil smiled. "I was going to say 'a goofy teenager' but Greg'll do just fine." He dropped her hand and rubbed his face. "Regardless, it was…insensitive. I shouldn't have made fun of you."

"You didn't," she said softly. "It's nice to see the old you pop up once in a while."

His quirk of the brow said it all.

She laughed. "You know what I mean; not the _old _old you, just the old you. I love seeing you so relaxed, so carefree…behaving like you haven't a care in the world." She paused. "Besides, you can rest assured that I'll have my own back at some point."

Gil half got up, stretching over the table and put his hand behind Sara's head, gently pulling her toward him. He tilted his head to the side and kissed her on the mouth, a long, slow lingering kiss that had customers at the nearby tables shake their heads at. Breaking up the kiss, Gil only had eyes for his wife and smiled, whispering, "Thank you. I look forward to it."

Sara snorted at his effrontery. But _when in France_ she reminded herself… But before she could reply, the waiter cleared his throat, interrupting them before placing their ice creams and bill in front of them. Sara beamed her biggest smile at him, moving back to make space for the ice creams, her eyes widening in wonderment while Gil paid the man.

"How do French women keep so slim?" Sara asked in hushed tones when the waiter had given Gil his change.

Gil looked around them. "Well to go by their reputation, I would say-"

"Please, Gil, don't even go there."

Gil frowned before chuckling at Sara's innuendo. "No, I was going to say…never mind." Okay, so maybe now wasn't the time to get into a debate about the merits of a well-balanced diet of three sit-down meals with no junk food. Instead, he picked up his spoon and scooped up a big spoonful of hot chocolate covered pear with a little vanilla ice cream.

"Oh! This is heaven," Sara moaned, chewing on a strawberry coulis covered peach segment topped up with Chantilly cream. "I am putting so much weight on-"

"It's nice; I like it," he cut in his mouth full.

"Shit!" Sara coughed up the ice cream that had gone down the wrong way. "You noticed?"

Gil's deer-caught-in-headlight expression raised a giggle from Sara.

"You got to stop your daily trips to the bakery for my morning brioche or I'm going to turn into one of these," she said with a nod toward her Pêche Melba. Just to prove her point, Sara scooped another spoonful and savoured every single morsel of it. "Seriously though," she mused after a while in contemplation, "I _have_ been piling on the pounds since we've been here. Four to be exact."

"It doesn't show, dear; you wear it well."

"So do you," Sara said softly, her eyes fixed on scooping up the last of the vanilla ice cream.

Gil narrowed his gaze at her, pushing his half-eaten Poire Belle-Hélène away in mock-disgust. "Oh well, I'm just going to have to cancel tonight's reservation then," he said matter of fact.

Sara's head snapped up. "But we ate out yesterday."

Gil shrugged innocently, reaching for his ice cream. "I had it all planned to the last detail but if you're worried about your figure, we could do _something else_ instead."

Sara's brow lifted in interest. _Something else?_ "Could we not do both?"

"I'm sure that could be arranged."

* * *

A/N: Sorry, this chapter is so long, I got carried away by all the fluff. Surprisingly, I'm really enjoying writing this bit of nonsense, it's a great way to offload. So, dare I ask for it? Would you like some more or have I exhausted all the fluffiness I possess?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Rating's shot up to M, not because I'm going back to the dark side but rather for the unexpected presence of mature content. If you object, you have all my apologies and I'll resume normal candle-lit exploration of Paris in the next chapter. A good friend of mine sent some of her muse vibes across the pond – albeit for my other story, the one full of angst and woe – and this is what happened. What was a four line interlude became half the chapter. Again, I apologise. ;)

* * *

Sara's eyes were closed as she soaked in the bath dreamily thinking about the evening ahead, wondering what Gil could have up his sleeve that had him so smug, her mind lulled by the soft strands of classical music drifting in from downstairs through the open window. She had relentlessly quizzed her husband about his plans for their night all the way home from Montmartre but he had managed to fend her and her blatant attempts at bribery off and had kept mum.

_Le Moulin Rouge, maybe? No. Too much like Vegas. We've done the local restaurants already, great but no reservations are needed. What's the restaurant on the Eiffel Tower called? The Jules Verne sitting at 125 meters above ground with breathtaking three-hundred-and-sixty-degrees views over the whole of Paris, especially by night, _she heard Gil recite from memory. He'd most probably already memorised the entire guide book. She shook her head in amusement._ Maybe he did get the hints after all. _

_And what am I going to wear? It's not like I own a lot of dresses. Would my well-worn all-purpose black court dress, and most importantly only dress, fit the occasion?_

What was even more intriguing was that he had waited until she was comfortably dozing in the tub to mysteriously announce he had to pop out for an errand. She was sure it had to do with his plans. Maybe he'd gone to the traiteur for a last minute gourmet meal and they weren't eating out at all.

_After all, all he would say was that he had made reservations. But reservations for what? Well, he can't be much longer now, _she mused,_ he's been gone ages._

And as if on cue, she heard the apartment's front door open and then bang shut, heralding his long-awaited return.

"Gil, is that you?"

"Yes dear," came the muffled reply."Why? Were you expecting someone else?"

"Just my lover," she whispered under her breath.

"Well, too bad. I'm back," he shouted back. "Where are you?"

"Still in the tub," she announced gaily. She frowned as she heard the tip-tapping of Gil's heavy footsteps on the wooden floor as he rushed around their small third floor furnished apartment, leased to them for the year by the university. It was conveniently situated in the area of Paris's VIth arrondissement better known as le Quartier Latin, a stone's throw away from the Sorbonne on the Rive Gauche or the left bank of the river Seine. Sara loved the studenty feel of the area; it reminded her of her youth, of happy times, of Boston.

Sara idly ran the flannel over her newly-shaved legs, realising for the first time that the water had gone cold, thinking that maybe she ought to get out to check on her husband's mysterious to-ings and fro-ings when he popped his head round the open bathroom door, smiling.

She smiled back. "You were gone a long time," she mused feigning a little sadness and neglect.

"Was I?" he replied vaguely. He quickly toed off his shoes, tugging off his clothes at the same time into a pile on the floor. "Move over! I'll take the faucets."

Barely giving Sara time to react, he was already stepping into the small white enamel tub. She moved her legs back to make space and when he leaned forward she pressed her lips to his inviting mouth. It was like kissing molten chocolate as his mouth yielded into the most exquisite warm opening.

Pulling back, Sara frowned, licking her lips. _Hang on a minute! I am kissing molten chocolate._ "Gil," she purred, "Where did you go while you were gone?"

Gil shrugged a shoulder, lowering himself into the tepid water.

"You stopped by the bakery, didn't you?" she asked her voice laced with mirth.

A smile twitched at his lips. "There's no pulling wool over your eyes, CSI Grissom."

Sara giggled. "Sidle. CSI Sidle."

"What? Wouldn't you want to take my-"

"No."

"But you changed your name for everything else."

"That's personal," she exclaimed, flicking some water toward his face. "Vegas is - was work. Not that it matters anyway as I'm not going back to it." Her eyes narrowed as she whispered, "Did you get me something?" Met with a confused arch of his brow, she clarified, "At the bakery."

"I most certainly did, Mrs Grissom," he replied with a glint in his eye. He paused. "Pass me that thing." Sara frowned. "That…, what do you call it?, the loofah. Pass me the loofah," he commanded with a smile.

Gil pulled Sara's ankle to his shoulder and took the fancy sponge. He was surprisingly gentle and tentative as he explored her wet body with his hands – huh, with the loofah.

Sara leaned back. "Mmm…this feels good," she murmured appreciatively closing her eyes. The rough texture of the sponge made her shiver or was that caused by the gentleness of his touch or maybe by the feel of his erection pressing against her inner thigh. "Mmm…"

Gil said nothing, just reaching out a strong soapy hand to stroke her cheek, cocking his head to one side in concentration as his deep blue eyes examined her face, his thumb tracing every hollow with extraordinary delicacy. It was a hopelessly romantic gesture and Sara felt so aroused they could have been sitting in a Jacuzzi.

Eyes still closed, Sara lowered her leg and spun round so that her back was to him, great splashes of water slopping out on to the bathroom floor as she moved.

Gil leaned away in alarm as a minor tidal wave approached him. "What are you doing now?"

"I want you to sponge my back."

He smiled before obliging. Very slowly. Very gently. Very tenderly.

"I like the dip just here," he said softly kissing the path the sponge had traced down her back. He shivered and stopped suddenly. "Come on!" he said unexpectedly after noticing the goose bumps on Sara's skin. "Let's get out." He stood up, reaching for a towel. "The water's too cold."

Gil stepped out, drying himself quickly.

"What?" Sara croaked in bewilderment, watching him through narrowed eyes, eyes burning with unconsumed yearning and desire – _frustrated_ unconsumed yearning and desire.

In reply, he held out his hand. "Come on. We don't have time to waste."

_Time to waste? Is that what that was?_

"We don't want to be late," he continued. Sara took his proffered hand. "Or we'll literally be left high and dry."

_High and dry? _"I already know all about that," she muttered sulkily as she got to her feet.

Gil didn't move. Nor did he stop staring at her. At her wet, glistening alluring body. And she stared back, inviting, enticing, seducing.

He didn't stand a chance.

After the longest minute, she stepped out of the tub, turning round as he wrapped the towel he had just used on him round her, gently rubbing her dry. He leaned in, slowly moving Sara's hair to the side exposing her nape.

Sara felt a shiver of excitement course through her body and moved to turn round to face him but Gil held her firmly in place by the shoulders. He used his tongue to lick the tiny droplets of moisture on her neck, his light fingers caressing the soft skin of her bare shoulders before working their way down the curve of her spine, the towel forgotten, cascading to the tiled floor.

Sara gave a low throaty moan of pleasure, abandoning herself to the sensation. She groaned as she felt him kneel behind her reaching the sensitive spot, the dip in her back just above her ass. She made to turn again but unyielding, he held her in place.

"You're mine tonight," he whispered, his breath hot on her skin. "I call the shots."

He slowly turned her round looking up toward her face, catching the sheer pleasure and surrender reflected there and he smiled. Sara smiled back, closing her eyes, indicating that she indeed was all his.

Gil reached up his hands to her breasts, gently cupping them, stroking them, causing her to shiver again, her already hard nipples hardening even more. She could feel his warm breath coming faster and faster against her stomach and the heat of his gaze burning through her face as he watched her. She smiled knowingly before opening her eyes to look into his, a direct pathway into his soul. She saw all the love she felt for him reflected in them and more. So much more.

She touched his face with the tip of her fingers, lacing those through his short curls, tugging him upwards but he gave a slow shake of the head in response, his eyes wordlessly and unmistakably communicating his adoration, his yearning for her and his intentions. She smiled shyly, giving a small nod of the head, her legs automatically parting under his caress.

He trailed slow lingering kisses over her softly rounded stomach, his tongue darting in and out to lick the water out of her belly button before meandering down to the black curls of her sex. He began a slow careful exploration, teasing his way inside her most inner place with the tip of his tongue, his movement becoming more nimble with each gasp, each moan and each groan escaping from his wife's mouth. She fell back onto the rim of the bath allowing him better access.

Gil continued, his tongue making way to his warm fingers as they began their slow gentle discovery. When he knew she was at the cusp of her orgasm, her crescendo of moans and gasps intensifying to deafening heights he looked up to watch Sara's face, to watch as she gave herself to him, completely, unreservedly, before finally climaxing uncontrollably, thinking that it wasn't possible to love anyone as much as he did her.

Watching Sara come was enough to trigger his immediate and most natural response and yet just before she was spent, he rose to his feet, cupping her ass with his hands, lifting her off the floor before propping her over the bathroom sink. Her balance on the sink was precarious so she laced her legs around his midriff arching her back while her hands gripped the sink tightly.

And he was inside her, thrusting quickly, roughly, filling her up completely. Only, when she felt the last shiver, shudder of excitement ripple through her did she open her eyes, smiling, in time to share in his climax, watching him explode.

They stood there, motionless, breathless, incredulous, laughing and watching each other intently for long seconds. Then, still inside her, she pulled him close, taking his face in her hands and kissed him softly on the lips. "Thank you, Superman" she breathed into his mouth.

_a ghost of a satisfied, proud smile was tugging at his lips. When in France…_ he was about to retort but thought better of it and just gave her a playful 'happy to oblige' nod of the head instead before deepening the kiss as he gently eased her off him.

Sara took him by the hand, leading him to their bedroom. When she reached the threshold, she gasped her eyes widening in astonishment before snapping her head round enquiringly.

"It's for you," Gil whispered with only a shy smile as an explanation. When he noticed her hesitation, his face fell. "You don't like it. It's all right," he said brightly after a pause, "I can change it. The lady said-"

Sara placed her index finger on his lips. "No, Gil, sshhh," she murmured. "It's beautiful. It's beautiful," she repeated, turning her head back to the bed. "How did you-"

"I borrowed your black one. I wanted you to have something new for tonight. Something to make you feel special. The lady measured it. If it doesn't fit, I can…Are you sure-"

"Sshhh," she intoned. "You've made tonight very special already. I love it, Gil. I love you."

"You sure you like the colour?" he asked hesitantly.

"How could I not love the colour, Gil? It compliments perfectly your eyes."

"That's what the lady said. She also asked if I was the lucky man you'd be wearing the dress for…Sara, I know I don't tell you often enough but I am a lucky man and I love you."

"I know," she replied softly, a naughty grin tugging at her lips, "Superman." She picked up the azure-blue just-below-the-knee chiffon dress from the bed, held it up daintily by the thin beaded straps against her naked body as she twirled in front of him. "Thank you. I feel like Beauty."

He frowned. "Beauty?"

"Beauty and the Beast? La belle et la bête? The love story?"

"Ah, la belle." He chuckled. "What does that make me then, the Beast?"

"The Beast was really a handsome prince."

"But I can't marry you because you know…not wanting to point out the obvious… been there, done that."

"Well, we're left with the happily ever after then," she said in all seriousness. "And we've made a good start." She ran her finger over the gossamer fabric of the evening dress. She suddenly looked up bringing her hand to her damp hair, tilting her head to the side coquettishly. "Now, the only question is, do you want my hair up or down?"

* * *

A/N: So, up or down? Your wish is my command.


	4. Chapter 4

"Up. Definitely up. Keep it up."

She made an appreciative eyebrow waggle. "All right. Up it is, then. If you're sure," she added. To which, he nodded enthusiastically. "How long have I got to get ready?"

Gil made to look at his watch but since Costa Rica he only wore it when he absolutely had to. He glanced over to the clock on the nightstand and winced. "Fifteen minutes before the cab gets here."

"What?" Sara shrieked in alarm, already scurrying off to the bathroom dress in hand. She ran back out, kissed her husband softly on the lips before fishing out some lacy black panties from the chest of drawers.

Fifteen minutes later, Sara wandered back in the bedroom, her hair beautifully and elegantly pinned back into a French bun with a few loose curls fanning her face. She was wearing the barest hint of makeup – her Costa Rican tan topped up in the Parisian sunshine gave her a natural glow – a little subtle eye shadow, black mascara and a soupçon of pale red lipstick.

She was looking down intent on fastening the clasp on her silver pendent when she asked, "Gil, can you come and do me up?"

"My pleasure," Gil replied turning and smiling on seeing her. "You look…exquisite and smell heavenly."

Sara smiled a little shyly at the compliment but didn't look up, automatically lifting her arm higher to allow better access to the side zipper. When he was done, she caught his eye smiling her thanks and gasped in surprise.

Gil arched his brow in amusement. "I too scrub up well, dear," he said with the smallest trace of teasing.

But Sara couldn't agree more as she stood there her jaw literally dropping. "I don't think I've ever- You've never- Wow!" she eventually uttered for want of a better word.

"Well, I'm glad I meet with your approval," he said, picking up the bowtie and resuming his stance in front of the full length mirror. Soon, he was once more cursing under his breath.

"I didn't know you'd brought your tux to Paris," Sara mused as she watched him struggle to work the bowtie into a knot.

Gil shrugged. "I was told I'd need it for faculty official dinners."

Sara nodded before moving toward the mirror and instructing him to turn round. She frowned in concentration thinking it shouldn't take a major in Applied Physics to do such a simple task. But then again, maybe it did. After a minute or two, she pulled a face at her effort.

"What's so funny, Sara?" Gil asked in all seriousness. "Me in this tuxedo?"

"No. Nooo. You look…absolutely divine. No. It's just I don't seem to be able to-"

Gil nodded in understanding. "I know. I just don't get it either. Last time I wore this thing, Catherine had to tie it for me."

Sara chuckled uneasily as she tried a new approach to tying the bowtie. "I remember. Ecklie's promotion dinner." She narrowed her gaze as another memory came to her.

"Sara?"

"Huh?"

"You all right? You seem…distracted, almost distant all of a sudden." Gil paused and brought his hands up over Sara's to still her movement. "Is this too much?"

"What?" she asked absently.

"Is this too overwhelming for you?"

Sara's focus seemed to return. "No. Nooo." She smiled and pulling him toward her by the bowtie ends, she kissed him softly on the mouth. "It's not that. _This _is all absolutely perfect. No." She inhaled sharply. "You remember Sophia Curtis?"

Gil frowned. "Sure. Why?"

"I was so jealous of her. You wouldn't believe," Sara said with a nervous chuckle.

"If I remember correctly you threw quite a few daggers at that poor woman."

"Was I that transparent?"

"You had nothing to fear, Sara. My heart even then was always yours."

Sara couldn't help smile at his words. "She glued your bowtie into place," she mused distractedly.

His mouth twitched into a knowing smile. "I tossed it in the trash."

Her grin widened at that comment and she whipped the bowtie off Gil's neck. "I like you better without anyway," she said undoing the top button of his shirt. She looked up, caught his eye and tossed the offending article over her shoulder, forgetting she was standing in front of the open window. "What?" she asked on seeing his flabbergasted face.

"Turn around," he instructed.

Sara's eyes widened in realisation and laughing, she bent over the small balcony railing looking down to the sidewalk below. She straightened, turning to face him and shrugged.

"They might not let me in, now," he said deadpan. "They have a strict dress code."

Sara's brow lifted in interest. "Where are you taking me?"

"Ça, c'est une surprise ma chérie," he said with a kiss to the tip of her nose. "You ready? The taxi driver must be wondering what we're up to."

Sara nodded and picked up her lipstick, handing it to him. He slipped it in his pocket and they left. As they reached the landing of the floor below, they met their downstairs neighbour, a student in his early-twenties judging by his appearance, who smiled at them on his way out of his apartment. They stopped to let him past as the corridors were narrow and rather dark despite the artificial light and Sara was making slow progress on her higher-than-usual heels.

"Bonsoir," the man greeted as he pocketed his key, his polite smile widening appreciatively on catching a glimpse of Sara.

"Bonsoir," Gil and Sara replied in unison.

The neighbour eyed Sara openly and rather admiringly. On noticing the Frenchman's _very_ obvious reaction to Sara, Gil narrowed his eyes and increased his grip on his wife's elbow possessively. He motioned for the man to go first with them following behind.

As he got to the heavy wooden double front doors, the neighbour put his hand on the brass handle, waiting until Gil and Sara had caught up with him to turn round, a smile on his face. He caught Grissom's eye and winked unabashedly saying, "Passez une bonne soirée, les tourtereaux and next time remember to close the windows."

Sara's face turned a dark shade of rouge as she realised what the man was saying. She turned to Gil. "Oh my God! Nooo."

Gil gave a strange shrug, reflecting a mixture of je-m'en-foutisme, bashful embarrassment and undisguised pride on his face.

"I should be mortified," Sara continued in a whisper, "but I'm not." She moved closer, pressing the length of her body onto his and whispered even more quietly. "There's still plenty of life left in you, old man. You were…fantastic."

Gil winked mischievously. "You ain't seen nothing yet," he murmured back. Noticing that the strap of Sara's dress had slipped down her shoulder, Gil delicately hooked a finger under it, bringing it back up before leaning closer to brush his lips to the crook of her neck. "The night's still young," he breathed quietly into her ear causing her to shiver. Noticing her reaction, he moved back in alarm. "Are you cold?"

Sara smiled, shaking her head. She locked her gaze onto his and was about to show him how much she loved him when the loud prolonged beeping of a horn startled her.

Gil let out a soft moan. "The French aren't known for their patience," he said. "That'll be our cab."

They let the door shut behind them and indeed the cab was there idling at the curb. Out of the blue, Gil let go of Sara's hand and walked five or six yards away, looking down as though meticulously scanning the sidewalk and roadside for _evidence_.

"What are you doing now?" Sara asked with a frown, her hand on the cab door.

Gil didn't reply but bent down finding what he was looking for before turning round with a satisfied smile on his face. "I've got this planned to the last detail," he said. "I don't want to be turned away at the door on a technicality." He dusted his previously-discarded bowtie before slipping it in his pocket.

"Pont de l'Alma, s'il vous plait," he then told the taxi driver as he got in after Sara.

"Pont de l'Alma? A bridge?" Sara asked in confusion.

"You'll see," was all Gil was prepared to say.

Sara sat back and took in her surroundings. The streets around the Boulevard St Germain were buzzing with people, the restaurants, bars and jazz clubs slowly filling up. By ten or eleven Sara knew that they would be spilling out onto the sidewalks, heaving with noise, chatter and music. The taxi took a right turn headed toward the river, the imposing floodlit Cathédrale de Notre-Dame looming tall in the foreground on the Ile de la Cité, a tiny island splitting the river Seine in half at that point.

And despite the fact that Sara had had the chance to marvel at that sight every day, it never ceased to amaze her. They carried on the journey along the river in silence for ten minutes or so until the taxi slowed, pulling up at the corner of the Pont de l'Alma.

Sara frowned as she got out of the cab. She did a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn on her heels looking for a restaurant. She could see the illuminated Eiffel Tower in the background and wondered if Gil had decided to take her to the Jules Verne after all but she shook the idea off. It was _way_ too far to walk in those heels. He had to know that, right?

Gil paid the driver and slipped his hand in his wife's. "Come on. It's this way."

They walked ten yards or so and then took a turn trotting down a poorly-lit flight of stairs toward the river. As they rounded the corner at the bottom, Sara let go of Gil's hand and he abruptly turned round in alarm. His breath caught, his expression softening immediately on seeing the delight on his wife's face; he had never seen Sara looking more gorgeous than she did at that moment. She was transfixed, her mouth agape, her bright eyes shining with excitement, as her features reflected the soft glow of the street lights around them as she slowly took in where he had taken her.

"How did you hear about this place?" she whispered looking around in wonderment. The river was shimmering in front of her under the lights, the _restaurant_ was lit up literally like a Christmas tree and Sara could hear the soft strains of a live band playing a little French tune. "And please don't say your guide!"

Gil smiled. "Not mine. Yours."

He clasped her hand in his and squeezed it before tugging her forward toward the awaiting boat, their floating restaurant.

"Monsieur et Madame Grissom?"

Gil and Sara's surprised arched brows raised a knowing smile from the Maître D. "Everybody else is already here," he explained in excellent English, welcoming them on board. He frowned and then coughed discreetly motioning toward Gil's bare collar. The latter looked down, bringing his hand up self-consciously and smiled before turning toward Sara with a knowing tilt of his head. He retrieved the bowtie from his pocket and smoothened it uncertainly.

Sara giggled. "On a eu un petit problème avec le..." she explained with a wave toward the bowtie.

The Maître D pulled a facial shrug and snatched the bowtie out of Gil's hand. "Rules are rules, Mr Grissom," he said with a smile, raising himself to his tiptoes. "They are to be respected."

And faster than it had taken him to make his point the Maître D had safely secured the bowtie around Gil's neck.

Gil and Sara exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

As soon as they were seated, Sara felt the boat moor off and slip quietly away into the night and she took a moment to look at the room, the other _passengers_, the decors and the band playing in the background. The tables were exclusively set for two, adorned with tall white candles, the linen starched to a crisp white, and the glassware twinkling in the candle light and every single customer dressed up more elegantly than Sara could have thought possible.

"Une bouteille de Dom Pérignon, s'il vous plait," Gil told the Maitre D without preamble. "We're celebrating."

"Gil, no. It's too much," Sara whispered across the table as the Maitre D removed their wine glasses. She waited until he had finished before asking, "And what are we celebrating anyway? Your birthday's been and gone and best forgotten," to which he nodded earnestly, "and it's still too early for mine."

Gil smiled, shaking his head. "Any more guesses?"

Sara pretended to think for the whole of two seconds, drawing a blank. "Nope. You got me."

"I do, don't I?"

To her amused scoff, he said, "What day is it today?"

"Saturday, why?" Sara paused. "Is today some kind of French national holiday? I thought they did that on the fourteenth of July."

"They do."

Gil merely gave Sara a low smile as he watched her face register a series of emotion as she thought about his riddle. When after a minute she still hadn't come up with anything, his face turned serious. "You'll need a clue then, CSI _Sidle_," he said giving particular emphasis on Sidle. "And to think you had such a brilliant mind. I think you've lost your touch, dearest Sara."

In response, Sara made a fake-pouting face, scrunching her eyes at him. To which, Gil simply tapped the wedding band on his finger.

Her face softened as she realised. "28th of August- six months today."

Gil nodded. "Joyeux anniversaire de marriage, ma chérie," he whispered, slipping a small box on the table in front of her.

Sara's face fell. "I don't- I didn't – I don't have anything for you, Gil. I-"

"Sara, stop! He said tightening his hold on her hand. "I don't want for anything."

The garçon chose this moment to approach with the champagne and their menus and Gil let go of Sara's hand as he moved back. The garçon made a song and dance of uncorking and pouring the champagne to the delighted and envious "Ha-s" of other patrons – mainly of the female variety. Gil picked up his flute, motioned for Sara to do the same and clinked it to hers.

"Chin chin," he drawled, proposing a toast the French way. "Happy wedding anniversary."

Sara took a small sip of the exquisite beverage. "Mmm." She set the glass down on the table and picked up the box to study it. "Is it safe for me to open here?" she asked nodding toward her gift, "or should I wait till we're home?"

Gil shook his head in amusement. "Open it now. It's quite innocent."

Sara lifted the lid and unfolded the tissue paper. She laughed knowingly on seeing the silk scarf she had been looking at in the Galeries Lafayettes a few days previously.

She was absently fingering the soft threads when Gil said, "See; I do listen once in a while."

Sara looked up and beamed her brightest smile at him. "You do a good job of pretending you don't. Thank you," she said, stretching over the table to kiss him softly.

Gil returned the kiss and picked up his menu. "I'm absolutely famished. Ah! Excellent. They have foie gras on the menu. I haven't seen any in restaurants back home since Ecklie's promotion dinner."

Sara swallowed the champagne she was sipping the wrong way. "You can't be serious," she spluttered. "Did you know that a metal tube is lowered into the ducks' throat for about ten seconds while the food is being introduced," Sara said her fingers mimicking quote marks around 'introduced', "literally force-feeding them? And that this _gavage_ takes place two or three times a _day_ to enlarge and I quote 'the animal's liver up to ten times its normal size'?"

"It's no worse than battery hens in factory farms kept in stifling hangars with no space to roam. They sit in their own muck but are still consumed by millions of consumers every day."

"I don't eat chicken."

"But you eat _eggs_," Gil countered softly with a tilt of his head as he made his point.

Sara lifted a shoulder, conceding Gil's point. Gil's omelettes were to die for. "But I always make sure we buy free range."

"Still, _they_ need more help than pampered ducks with fat livers, who are, by the way left to roam, in open space. I don't think the government should tell us what we can and can't have on our plate Sara and I'm glad that the French are proud of their culinary traditions."

"Are you telling me that you condone animal cruelty for the sake of your stomach?" Sara asked, her eyes wide in disbelief and shock.

"No. Of course not. But it's never been proven that these animals are capable of feeling that kind of pain. They have no nerves in their throat so the shoving of a pipe doesn't harm them."

Sara wasn't sure whether Gil was deliberately playing devil's advocate or if he genuinely believed what he was preaching. However noticing that their heated discussion was attracting quite a few looks their way, Sara closed her eyes and counted until ten very slowly. When she reopened her eyes Gil was still studying the menu and she was once more composed, serene and smiling.

"Well, I can tell you that much, Gil," she said, her eyelids fluttering suggestively as she closed her argument, "No foie gras shall pass my lips tonight."

"That's your choice, Sara and I wasn't suggesting you tried it. I respect -" Gil stopped short on noticing Sara's eyebrow half-way up her head. "No foie gras shall pass your lips, you say?"

Sara nodded slowly knowing full well what was going through her husband's mind. "Nope."

Gil rolled his eyes and sighed bringing his menu up to peruse once more.

Sara tilted her head in victory. "It's nice to see you know your own mind," she finished, barely trying to conceal her laughter.

The waiter cleared his throat uneasily. He had been trying to get their attention for a little while now. "Is…everything all right with the _champagne_?" he asked.

Gil looked up at the man in confusion.

The waiter shook his head in amusement. "Is…this a good time to take your order, Sir?"

Gil's face creased into an involuntary grin as he desperately tried to stifle his laughter.

"Vous avez choisi?" the waiter insisted.

Gil threw a despairing glance at Sara. "Huh? No." He cleared his throat. "Not yet. Pas encore," he replied at last, raising his fingers into a V shape. "Vous revenez dans 2 minutes?"

Gil returned his attention to Sara but she was hiding her face behind her menu. "Do you think he heard us?" she asked.

"What? Our little…quarrel?" He shrugged in good-humour. "Who cares?"

_First, there's the neighbour and now this? _Sara smiled. "You…used to," she said peering over the top of the menu.

Gil nodded but he was intent on choosing his starter and left it at that. "Okay, then. It's a toss between the snails and the warm goat's cheese salad for starters."

"Well, I'm having the spring rolls in the baume des Fjord, whatever _that _is."

"Excellent choice, Madame," the waiter said, leaning close behind her, startling Sara. "Et pour Monsieur?"

"Mmm.." Gil dithered, sneaking a peek at Sara over the rim of his glasses. He really had been looking forward to the foie gras. Eventually, he shook his head, taking off his glasses and saying, "La salade de chèvre chaud, suivie d'un magret de canard saignant aux pommes cuites avec petits légumes de saison."

"Et Madame?"

Sara folded her menu with a gleeful resounding snap. "The cannellonis à la sauce tomate."

* * *

A/N: Oh my God! This is getting so out of control. Sorry this chapter is so long, once I got started it just poured out of me. Is it time to burst their bubble yet? I know just the way to do it. It's up to you.

Also, I tried to be fair and not let my personal views about foie gras take over and tried to portray very, very succinctly both sides of the argument. It might be worth mentioning at this point that I originally come from the south west of France, le Pays du canard et du foie gras. Yummy…


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I was going to post this tomorrow but...It's Friday. It's pouring down with rain here in the UK. Some people at work will need cheering at some point and I hope this does the trick. You know who you are! Robynne, this one's for you because you asked me so nicely. ;)

A/N 2: _La Vie en Rose_ is the title of the film about Edith Piaf's life under which _La Môme_ was released internationally in 2007.

The song _L'Hymne à l'amour_, recorded in 1950, was written by Piaf for her lover, the French boxer Marcel Cerdan who died in a plane crash in 1949 and has been translated into English. One version, the one I'm alluding to, _If you love me, really love me_ was sung among others by Kay Starr in 1954. Another version with different lyrics is called _Hymn to love_, which is a direct translation of the French title.

_The Lady in Red_ is by Chris De Burgh.

* * *

Sara savoured every smidgen of her crème brûlée. She used the back of the spoon to crack the caramelised-crusted topping. Her eyes never left her husband's as she delicately brought the spoon to her lips, swooning in delight as the sensation of the sweet, slightly warm, vanilla-flavoured cream hit her palate. She allowed her eyes to drift shut as the cream melted in her mouth.

_God, I'm in heaven._

Gil's breath caught at her titillation. His eyes widened and he could feel himself become hard at the sheer unadulterated ecstasy reflected in her face. He shifted down in his chair, spreading his legs apart a little and watched in rapt fascination as her lips parted, allowing her tongue to escape and catch a little cream off the corner of her mouth. She then ran it tantalizingly over her top and bottom lips, and sighed in abandon. Gil knew instinctively that she was as turned on as he was.

When she finally reopened her eyes and looked at him, Sara couldn't help notice her own heady passion reflected in his candlelit dark blue orbs and she suppressed a shiver of excitement. She smiled tenderly, staring at him. The unhidden desire shining in her eyes spelt out in no uncertain terms what she had in store for him. For she knew instinctively that he was as turned on as she was.

_Jesus, Sara! What are you doing to me? If I'm going to make my move it has to be now before I self-combust. _

His heart pounding in his chest, Gil eased a finger under the collar of his shirt, loosening the bowtie enough to undo the top button. He reached for his champagne and gulped it down.

_A little Dutch courage! Come on old boy, go for it._

His gaze narrowed, his face turning serious and he pushed his chair back noisily. He nodded to himself a couple of times, his eyes flicking from Sara to a point beyond her. Hesitating to stand up fully, he perched on the edge of his seat, craning his neck, earnestly trying to catch the Maître D's eye.

Sara's smile went from blissful to mystified and she quietly put down her spoon. "Gil," she whispered under her breath, glancing around her anxiously. "Is everything all right? There's still plenty of champagne left in the bottle."

Gil shook his head absent-mindedly in reply. Out of the blue, he flashed a smile followed a second later by a small mysterious nod of the head.

Baffled, Sara turned her head round suspiciously and when she didn't see anything noteworthy she flicked that same look back to her husband and studied him for a moment.

_His eyes are a little unfocused. He's distracted and looking decidedly more flushed as the evening wears on. _She frowned and then smiled indulgently in realisation._ He's drunk._

She brought her flute to her mouth and took a small sip. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him even remotely tipsy. "Gil? Is something the matter?" she asked her voice full of mirth.

Gil looked down on hearing his name and smiled blissfully. He then stood up decisively, his knees involuntarily catching the underside of the table.

Sara laughed at his clumsiness and rolled her eyes at his obvious inebriety. She was sure she'd had more to drink than him. She scrunched her eyes in thought casting a quick glance toward the second bottle of Dom Pérignon in the ice bucket. She was trying to recount how many glasses of champagne he had had when he unexpectedly moved round to her side of the table, a mysterious smile tugging wide at his lips.

Clearing his throat discreetly, he held his hand out and winked unabashedly at her. Sara's eyes widened in surprise and the breath caught in her throat as she realised what he was doing. She looked around the restaurant uncertainly but giddy excitement soon replaced her amazement. Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest and she returned her gaze to his. She beamed her brightest smile at him before daintily holding up her hand for him to take.

Looking utterly dazzling in his black tuxedo, Gil bent down ceremoniously, bowing his head respectfully at her. His eyes locked to hers as he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss to it. "Would you care to dance with me?" he whispered hoarsely.

Her whole body radiating with obvious delight, Sara whispered, "I would love to."

Gil helped her up to her feet and led her proudly to the small square at the front of the boat directly in front of the piano.

"I've never seen you looking so gorgeous as you do tonight," he murmured suggestively, leaning close to her ear. "I've never seen you shine so bright."

Sara couldn't help the ensuing giggle of sheer pleasure almost immediately followed by a frown coupled with mock pout as she recognised the lyrics he was quoting to her. "_Lady in Red_?" she asked her voice betraying her bewilderment.

He shrugged contritely at his lack of originality in the circumstance and shook his head at his nervousness.

_Come on Gil get a grip! Sara's sparkling in her beauty; she's all yours and all you can come up with are some pop song lyrics?_

"My lady in blue," he replied eventually cringing at his own words. _Dork!_

Taking their spot on the dance floor, Gil held Sara at a distance just long enough to run his eyes admiringly along the length of her body. He studied every curve intently as a slow appreciative and wistful smile curled at his lips.

He might as well have undressed her there and then. Feeling completely naked under his gaze, Sara licked her lips demurely, suddenly becoming shy at the attention he was lavishing on her, at the unspoken promise in his eyes and yet the undeniable sexual chemistry oozing from them was all encompassing.

The band suddenly erupted in a wonderfully-romantic, piano-driven rendition of Edith Piaf's _Hymne à l'amour_. With a slow dip of his head, his eyes burning into hers ardently, Gil gently pulled Sara to him and started swaying gently to the music. He didn't seem at all surprised by the choice of song or dismayed that they should be the only couple on the dance floor.

"Did _you_ pick this song?" Sara asked suddenly, the surprise in her voice evident.

In response, Gil smiled at Sara with undisguised satisfaction. He simply nodded his head, knowing full well that this particular song had rapidly become one of her favourites since they had been to see _La Vie en Rose_ at their local arty cinema a couple of weeks previously.

He brought Sara's left hand to his mouth and kissed its palm softly. Literally melting in his arms, Sara let an involuntary low moan in response as she settled in his embrace. His left hand was resting in the small of her back, fingers lingering lightly just above the dip he loved so much. His right hand clasped Sara's left one to his cheek as they moved to the gentle rhythm of the melody, the soft contented, proud smile not leaving his lips.

Sara was leaning her head in the crook of his neck, feeling the soft familiar bristle of his beard against her skin, drunkenly filling herself with whiffs of his aftershave and rapidly losing herself in the sensation. The fingers of her right hand were indolently stroking the soft grey curls at the back of his head.

Gil was an adept dancer for someone who danced so seldom and Sara belonged in his strong arms as he led her confidently around the dance floor. She closed her eyes as she abandoned herself totally to him, completely unaware of her magical surroundings and beautiful Paris passing by.

Now on its return journey to the Pont de L'Alma, the bateau-mouche sailed on seamlessly along the Seine, under softly-lit bridges, past equally beautifully-lit historic landmarks dotted along the river banks. Those should have been the highlight of the cruise but not at that moment. The magical, enchanting beauty of Paris was overlooked and all eyes were turned toward this American couple dancing amorously, so obviously in love with each other they had forgotten they had company.

Swaying harmoniously with the music and with Sara, Gil drew his wife closer still, their legs entwining until as much of their bodies was touching as physically possible. They were so close Gil could feel Sara's frenzied heartbeat through the gossamer fabric of her dress. So close Sara could feel his hot, raspy breaths ignite the tender skin just below her ear. So close she could feel his proud erection against her pulsating belly.

Gil waited a couple of beats and kissed Sara softly on the temple. Then he closed his eyes too, and took a deep breath.

"If the sun should tumble from the sky," he began to whisper in tune with the music into her hair. He smiled on feeling her soft gasp of appreciation and continued sweetly, "If the sea should suddenly run dry, if you love me, really love me, let it happen, I won't care." He paused, waiting for the melody to catch up with him. He brushed his lips to her skin and Sara's consequent short intake of breath and goose bumps spoke volume. Smiling wider, he carried on, "If it seems that everything is lost, I should smile and never count the cost. If you love me, really love me, let it happen, darling, I won't care."

Sara pulled back a little breathlessly, her face flushed and her eyebrow arched enquiringly but the idyllic pleasure shining in her eyes was apparent.

Gil smiled back cheekily and winked at her satisfied that his little surprise had had the required effect. He pulled her back to him so their bodies made one again.

"My mother," he replied softly after a while to her silent question, dancing a quick two steps so Sara was now facing the other way. "Before she lost her hearing she would listen to this song over and over again." Sara felt his smile turn wistful. "Not this version though," he continued, "Kay Starr's."

Sara smiled meditatively as she listened to the melody. "You understand that as beautiful as what you were singing is, it's not a direct translation of Edith's words. I think", she continued, narrowing her eyes in thought, "her words are more dramatic, more romantic, more tragic-"

"They are," he agreed with a teasing smile that seemed to suggest he'd be more than happy to show how more so in the privacy of their apartment.

Sara grinned back and looked deep into his eyes. "In the song, she tells her lover that, if he asked her to, she'd go to the end of the world for him. If he asked, she'd give him the moon and renounce her country and friends."

The double-entendre wasn't lost on Gil. "She must have loved him very much."

Sara smiled. "She did. So much so that she never truly got over his death; she died with him on that plane." She swallowed, ran her tongue over her lips to wet them and closed her eyes. "Let's see."

And although the music had now stopped, the band moving on to a more up tempo number, Gil and Sara kept their own slow rhythm, dancing softly, happy in the intimate cocoon they had created for themselves, unaware of the many guests joining them on the dance floor.

"Si un jour, la vie t'arrache à moi," she began singing softly the last few verses of the song in shaky French. "Si tu meurs, que tu sois loin de moi. Peu m'importe si tu m'aimes, car moi je mourrais aussi." She reopened her eyes and found him watching her with unrestrained longing. She smiled as her eyes locked to his. She took a deep breath and continued in English, "Those who love will live eternally. Heaven will reunite them…or something along those lines."

"Je t'aime, mon amour," Gil moaned, breathing hard, desperately trying to conceal his obvious yearning. Forgetting where they were, he twirled her and tipped her backwards. "I love you so very much, Mrs Grissom-"

"Show me," Sara breathed back in a tantalising whisper, knowing that it would take all his resolve not to.

Gil bowed his head in compliance and pulled her back up to her feet.

Before he could make his next move Sara's eyes narrowed in desire and lowering her face to his neck she pulled the end of his bowtie with her teeth, loosening the knot. She undid the knot fully and the second button of his shirt with trembling fingers, leaving the bow tie to hang loosely on either side of his collar.

"That's better," she teased breathily, doing a few quick steps of her own leading them to a much darker corner of the dance floor.

He smiled recognising her blatant teasing for what it was and stopped fighting his all-consuming desire, hungrily capturing her lips with his and devouring them impatiently, unable to wait any longer to douse his raging fire. Her lips parted instinctively with a soft moan.

A slow deep groan escaped Gil's mouth and easing his leg between hers he pulled Sara closer to him, slowly deepening the kiss, feeling the tremor of her responding body as his hands cupped her face even closer to his.

She was now standing on her tiptoes, her hands gripping the back of his head, her tongue finding its way into his mouth.

The fingers of his right hand wandered their way down her throat, stopping to stroke her collar bone, gliding down her flushed bare skin, the strap of her dress slipping down in their wake before halting at the soft curve of her pert breast. Their kissing became more ardent, more urgent, their tongues duelling passionately, their bodies grinding hard against one another, yearning and burning with unconsumed fire and excitement.

Sara slid her hands down from the back of his head, one hand gripping his buttock passionately, possessively, the other heading down the front of his pants to stroke the taut shaft of his penis.

Gil groaned again, a low resonating sound and pushed himself against her, rubbing himself against her hand, anything to satiate the aching throbbing of his erection.

Suddenly remembering where they were he pulled back breathlessly. "Shit, Sara, stop. Stop. Honey, stop! I'm about to-" He stared at her in a strange sort of way and forcefully removed her hand from his crotch. He burst out laughing, panting before pressing a few more kisses to her lips to calm his ragged breathing, to calm the searing fire that was taking him over the edge.

Sara began to giggle despite herself at his pained discomfited look and keeping their foreheads touching she stepped back, just far enough to feel his breathing on her face, just far enough to tease her hand to the front his pants, tilting her head mischievously at what he had just admitted to.

She then jerked back in alarm, her smile dying on her lips, her gaze turning sober and shifting to a spot over his shoulder. She self-consciously took another step back to a more decent distance and looked back at her husband with wide eyes. On seeing the bewildered expression reflected on his face, she looked down to the floor, stifling the urge to crack up.

Gil closed his eyes warily at once sobered up. He was about to turn round when he felt a discreet tap on his shoulder.

"Sir?"

Realising that their little display had probably been too overt, he wiped Sara's lipstick off his mouth and then brought his hand to rub his eyes in shameful embarrassment. When he heard Sara's muffled laughter he shook his head resigned for the reprimand that was surely coming his way. He reopened his eyes with a sigh and inhaling deeply he turned around.

Looking serious and somewhat exasperated, the Maître D looked at Sara and then at Gil. "These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and powder. Which, as they kiss, consume," he quoted solemnly in heavily-accentuated English before pinching his lips in badly-disguised amusement. "You may disembark now, if you wish Sir," he added quietly. "We have returned."

Gil cleared his throat uneasily, looked at Sara from the corner of his eye and reached for her hand. Unable to bring himself to meet the Frenchman's eye he dipped his head in recognition of the Shakespeare quote and wiped the corners of his mouth before replying, "Merci. I think we might… just do that."

* * *

A/N: The quote is from _Romeo and Juliet_. Please, leave a review; let me know if you're still enjoying this. I could be persuaded to write more... maybe…;-)


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh dear God Sara, I've _never_ felt so humiliated in my whole life," Gil whispered loudly as he helped Sara off the boat.

Still shaking his head in disbelief at his earlier display he pulled his bowtie off in disgust and shoved it unceremoniously into his jacket pocket. He looked at his wife with one last disbelieving headshake but couldn't help his lips twitch into an amused rictus.

Sara's face was contorted with badly-controlled mirth. She dried her tears from her eyes carefully using the tip of her index finger, mindful not to smudge her mascara. She was trying hard not to crack up again. She really was. She looked up meeting his gaze and snorted with laughter. "Come on, Gil. You got to admit it was funny."

The wide grin tugging at his lips and his ensuing chortle spoke volume. He clasped her hand in his and brought it to his lips, silencing her. "It was funny. Shame it was at my expense."

Sara frowned. She stared deep into the blueness of his eyes, trying to read whether he had taken offence at her little effrontery or was just getting his own back. When she saw the amused twinkle there, she beamed her cheekiest smile at him. He tightened his hold on her hand and without a backward glance toward the boat they began their slow walk up the dimly-lit stairway back onto the main boulevard.

However, the companionable silence that settled between them was short lived as Sara couldn't help her giggles from resurfacing.

"Never?" she asked eventually with a dubious arch of her brow, referring to his earlier statement.

Gil narrowed his eyes in thought. "Never," he stated categorically.

"Mmm…Alright. If you say so," she said in good-humour.

Gil stopped abruptly and turned her round toward him with a sharp tug of the hand. He studied her face for a while in bemusement. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sara shrugged innocently. "Nothing," she said pinching her lips to stop a grin from escaping. "Nothing."

He tilted his head to the side questioningly. "Sara?"

"Nicole Daley," she uttered very quickly.

He waved the issue aside with his hand. "That doesn't compare. It doesn't even register on the scale. You, Mrs Grissom, are a very naughty girl. You got me into a lot of trouble back there."

"Moi?" she asked in mock-offence bringing her hand to her chest. She shook her head, laughing. "You did that all by yourself when you tried your sweet voice on me. You knew full well what you were getting yourself into when you picked that song."

They trotted on up the stairs and Gil shrugged, conceding the point. "I did. Fair enough." A faint satisfied smile flickered across his lips. "It worked though, didn't it?"

"It did," she said winking at him playfully. "I was putty to your hands."

He laughed openly at her sarcastic self-depreciation. "No self-control, huh?"

"You're simply…irresistible, my dear," she teased with a demure flutter of her eyelashes.

Their carefree laughter could be heard resonating all the way up the stairs. They stopped on reaching the main thoroughfare.

"Left or right?" Gil asked looking both ways with a frown.

"Left. I want to look at the bridge. The Pont de L'Alma," she said meditatively. "Are all the bridges over the Seine named after battles?"

"Many but not all of them. The ones that do were built to commemorate Napoleon's victorious battles and wars."

Sara was looking around her completely in awe of her surroundings and stopped to admire quite an unusual statue at the foot of the nearest pillar supporting the bridge.

"It's a statue of a _zouave_, I think," Gil provided eagerly. Sara's arch brow demanded clarification and Gil happily obliged. "I believe they formed part of the French infantry in their conquest of North Africa. Their uniform is quite particular, isn't it?" he said pointing their joined hands toward the peculiar pantaloons.

Sara nodded and unconsciously played with the wedding band on his finger as she listened to the rest of his explanation with a wistful smile. She'd always found his voice captivating and then was no exception.

When he lapsed into silence, she lifted her gaze back up to him and caught him studying the main structure of the bridge. She observed him for a few seconds thinking how stunningly handsome he looked in his tuxedo under the soft golden glow of the street lights. She lovingly brushed her hand to his hair causing him to smile. The ambers of the fire in the pit of her stomach reignited instantly.

"I really love how skilfully and tastefully the place is lit up," she murmured admiring her surroundings. "It's so unlike Vegas. Whereas Vegas is brash and loud here is soft, romantic and so unobtrusive, almost intimate," she turned to look at him and smiled, "and stunning."

Gil had shifted perspective and was now watching her intently. "It is."

They looked deep in each other's eyes for a moment. Their eyes were kissing in such a lustful frenzy they might as well be doing it there and then.

Gil knew he had to act fast. Another second and he was sure to succumb to her delectable charms again. He shifted his stance, breaking eye-contact and smiled knowingly. Sighing somewhat regretfully, he gave a quick nod of his head toward the bridge and Sara laughed knowing it had taken all his resolve to manage that.

They carried on walking peacefully. The warm breeze had turned a little cooler and Sara repressed a shiver. Gil automatically shrugged his tuxedo jacket off and placed it over her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her hair as he did so.

Sara smiled her thanks and slipped her arms into the sleeves and then her hands into the pockets. Her smile widened as she felt the silk scarf he had given her as a gift earlier in the evening. She took it out and wrapped it around her neck.

"I don't believe I thanked you for this," she whispered, pulling him to her by the shirt. She raised herself on her tiptoes and laced her arms around the back of his head. Her eyes burning into his, she teased her lips to his mouth and kissed him very gently. "Merci," she breathed pulling back.

Gil draped his arms around her waist, keeping her to him. "You're such a tease, Miss Sidle and I love you." He brushed a stray brown curl back from her face and kissed the tip of her nose.

Sara made a mock-disappointed moue.

"No, no," he continued with an amused smile. "That face won't work on me. Honey, from now on, I'm keeping my distance. I don't want a repeat of…" he said with a careless wave toward the bateau-mouche below.

He slipped his hand in hers and they slowly wandered to the middle of the bridge. There they stopped and leaned over the edge, peering into the shimmering waters of the Seine.

The drop was maybe twenty feet high and Sara could feel the cold wind drafting up onto her face. The sensation was invigorating. The flow of the water was so peaceful, the reflections of the lights so mesmerising that Sara couldn't help the continuous blissful smile on her lips. She turned round and leaned back against the concrete side of the bridge.

There, in the foreground, tall and proud, stood the Eiffel Tower in all its glory. It was lit up in such a way that it looked like the tip of an arrow pointing toward the sky. Sara's gaze followed the lights until she was staring at the sky's dark, vast expanse. The moon was waning and the stars sparse, hidden by a covering of darkening clouds.

She closed her eyes, breathed in the cool night air and leaned her head over onto Gil's shoulder indolently. They didn't need words to describe what they were seeing, what they were feeling. Their contented silence said it all.

"You know," she whispered after a while. Her eyes were still closed and her face turned skyward. "I thought that tonight you were taking me to the Jules Verne."

"Would you rather I had?" he said snapping his head round from looking down at the river. "I thought about it," he added with a shrug, "but they didn't have a live band or a dance floor." The ghost of a smile twisted Sara's lips at the word 'dance floor'. "But maybe next time," he whispered amorously leaning over to brush his lips to her temple. Sara reopened her eyes and lifted an eyebrow at him. He smiled sweetly. "For your birthday."

Sara nodded and resumed stargazing. She looked so relaxed, so peaceful, so beautiful. Gil let out a breath of sheer contentment and lifted himself up to sit on the concrete ledge. He gently pulled her toward him until she stood with her back to him and in between his legs. He wrapped his arms over her shoulders and laid his chin in the crook of her neck, nuzzling against her cheek.

"You cold?" he asked as he hugged her to him.

Sara's lips pursed into an involuntary smile and she leaned her head deeper into him. "No." She took in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "I'm just soaking it all in." She looked up over her shoulder and found herself staring directly into his bright eyes. "I really love it here, Gil. This place is magical."

Gil stretched down and kissed her softly on the mouth. "Me too."

"Tonight is just perfect," she continued wistfully as she settled herself once more in his embrace. "I'll cherish this memory in my heart for ever." She began to giggle uncontrollably. "I don't recall ever having so much fun."

Gil nudged her gently in the side with his knee. "Not even when we were blowing up bombs?"

Sara laughed. "Not even then." She thought about it a little and added, "I've reached a stage in my life where I feel…happy. You make me happy."

Out of the blue, Gil let go of Sara and used her as leverage to push himself up onto the concrete bridge.

"Gil?" she asked turning around, her face dark with sudden fear. "What are you doing? Come down."

"It's okay, Sara. It's wide. It's safe." He stood up straight and opened out his arms. He looked up to the sky with a wide smile and closed his eyes. "I love my wife!" he shouted from the top of his lungs. "Sara, come up with me," he said looking down and holding his hand out. He beckoned her invitingly with his finger but wobbled unsteadily.

Sara reached for his leg with both hands and gripped it firmly. "Gil, come down. Please. You're scaring me."

"You don't trust me?"

"Gil, come on. Don't be silly. It's not a matter of trust; it's just damn plain stupid."

"Chicken."

Very slowly, as though a funambulist he took a few hesitant steps forward along the concrete beam of the bridge, arms stretched out wide for balance, gliding one foot after the other. He had a giddy grin plastered on his face.

Sara had no choice but to let go of his leg. "Gil, get down!" Her voice had turned from playful to mildly-concerned. Now, the utter fear and rising anger were unmistakable. "You know better than that. What are you trying to prove?"

Gil looked down at her and smiled tenderly. The smile quickly died on his lips and his eyes grew wide as he teetered precariously, arms flapping around madly as he tried to restore his balance. The sheer terror on his face caused Sara to shriek in panic. She managed to get hold of his hand and grabbed it with both hers, steadying him. Gripping her hands with all his might, he swiftly lowered himself down, jumping off onto the sidewalk. His face had lost all trace of amusement and he was panting hard.

"Fuck, Gil. What the hell was that about?" Sara shouted at him, jabbing her finger in his chest. "Don't you ever pull a stunt like that on me again! You hear me?" She was shaking like the proverbial leaf, her heart beating in her mouth. She turned away abruptly to hide her distress and took a few deep calming breaths. "Jesus, Gil," she whispered, "You really scared the crap out of me."

Still dazed by what had just occurred Gil rubbed his hand over his eyes and face wearily. "I'm sorry. I didn't think…I didn't mean to scare you. I was just trying to-"

But Sara was shaking her head at him. Unable to speak, she raised a trembling hand to silence him as a lone tear trickled down her cheek.

His heart broke and he moved closer to her. He sighed in sincere repentance of the fright he had caused her and reached over to wipe the tear streak from her face.

"Honey, come here," he said wrapping his arms around her body.

Sara tensed up defensively and shied away from his touch, turning away.

Sighing, he lowered his face to the back of her head and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeated softly, slowly turning her round by the shoulders.

Sara stopped fighting him and clasped her arms around his waist tightly. The surge of adrenaline had worn off unleashing a torrent of fresh tears. Gil took in a deep breath, taking in her scent, committing it to memory and held on to her until he felt the last of her tremors. "I'm sorry," he repeated into her hair, kissing it softly. "It was a stupid thing to do."

"Yeah, it was," Sara murmured back a tad sulkily. She pulled back from his embrace, wiping her face with the sleeve of his jacket. She wanted to be angry with him. Hell, she _was_ angry at him but she felt calmer now and he sounded and looked genuinely contrite and as shaken as she was.

"Je suis pardonné?" he asked timidly.

Sara tried very hard but failed to fight the growing smile twitching at her lips; after all, he had only tried to profess his love for her – albeit stupidly.

Gil tilted his head to the side and lifted her chin up with his finger. When she brought her gaze to his, he made a puppy-eyed face at her. "Friends?"

Sara grinned despite herself and nodded once in reply. Gil took her hand in his, smiling his gratitude and squeezed it tight as he thought about what had just happened; about his narrow escape. He had been a fool and he knew it. Sadly he couldn't even put it down to too much alcohol; the Maître D's little talk had sobered him up pretty damn quick.

* * *

A/N: Thank goodness for waterproof mascara. Sorry, I couldn't resist a little angst…C'était plus fort que moi! More fluff in the next chapter; it's already in the works…a Mr Darcy-type Grissom…if I can pull it off.

In case you were wondering: Je suis pardonné? – Am I forgiven?


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Dhila, as promised. I hope this is super fluffy enough for you.

* * *

Without another word, they started to walk over to the other side of the bridge. The earlier companionable silence was now awkward and Gil knew he had messed up big time. Sara was silent, a little distant even, her former carefree, blissful mood all but gone.

He gave a sad, meditative shake of the head, _My little stunt has gone and ruined a wonderful evening,_ and sighed. _Come on old boy, think of something!_

"What do you want to do now?" he asked on reaching the intersection.

"I think I just want to go home."

Gil nodded his head forlornly. "Shall we walk our way back along the riverbank?" he asked with a slight trace of cheerful optimism in his voice. To her unconvinced stare, he added enthusiastically, "We'll be fine. I'll protect you."

Sara looked at him for a while contemplatively and then she smiled, nodding her head. "All right." She placed her hand on his shoulder for balance and slipped off her strappy sandals. She smiled at his enquiring face and shrugged mildly in response. "The heels. They're killing me."

Gil's face brightened instantly and he lifted a brow in perplexed interest. He then shrugged, bending down to do the same. He pulled the laces of his shoes undone, toed them off carelessly and removed his socks. He rolled his pants legs up to his ankles, twiddled his toes in the fresh air and looked up to Sara with a wide grin. To her confused and yet amused frown he lifted a shoulder saying, "I believe in share and share alike. We'll walk on the grass. Come on, it'll be fun," he added, holding his hand out to take her shoes.

Sara smiled at his infectious good mood and passed him her sandals. He slipped them inside his own and daintily hooked two fingers to the back of his shoes to carry his load. She observed him from the corner of her eye and when he was done, she hooked her arm through his, nudging him in the shoulder playfully. "You're quite the romantic, aren't you?"

Gil snapped his head round in surprise and lifted a dubious shoulder. They began their slow wander down the fairly-smooth, tree-lined cobbled path along the river in companionable silence.

"I suppose," he replied eventually. "I've always thought of myself as…well-mannered, gentlemanlike even but I guess that could pass for being romantic. I've never felt like doing any of this before though. It just seems to come with the place. It feels natural. Paris…is Paris. It's enchanting."

"Ah, _Paris_," Sara exclaimed with a little moue.

"And the company too, of course," he added cheekily. "Without you, my dear, this place-" his words were muffled by a sudden rumble of thunder.

Out of the blue, the light cool breeze turned to a stronger wind. The trees above them were swaying in the wind, the leaves rustling merrily in its wake.

Sara shivered and snuggled closer to Gil. "Come on," she said increasing her pace, "Let's get home before the heavens open on us."

Gil looked skyward. "Too late," he shouted as rain unexpectedly started pouring down on top of them.

Within seconds, he was completely soaked. His white cotton shirt clung to him like a second skin, and his normally curly hair lay matted against his face.

Sara let go of his arm and quickly lifted the tuxedo jacket over her head. She slipped her right arm out and moved to shelter her husband with it.

Gil moved out from under the jacket and opened up his arms to the heavens, their shoes dangling off his fingers indolently. He was laughing in delight looking up to the sky like a giddy child. The water was streaming down his face, his features glistening with sheer uncontained exhilaration.

Sara suppressed a frisson and not because she was cold. The sight of his chest with his nipples protruding through his soaked shirt left her mesmerized.

He rubbed the rain water off his face and shook it off his hair, unaware of the effect his actions were having on Sara. Without a word, he beamed an 'I've never been happier' grin at her, took her hand in his and started running across a flowerbed to a nearby bus shelter, forgetting they were barefoot.

Feeling Sara's reluctant tug back as she chose her steps carefully, he stopped and turned around. He lifted both brows daringly ather, before unexpectedly bending over opening his arms out to her. He slid his left one in the crook of her knees, the other around her back and scooped her up in the haven of his powerful arms before twirling her around gleefully.

Sara squealed in delighted surprise and laughed in sheer unadulterated pleasure. Her carefully-coiffed hair was ruined and dripping big fat raindrops in her eyes. Her dress was itched up way mid-thighs and clinging to her every curve. She didn't care. It was just him and her at that moment. She laced her arms around his neck and gazed into his dark blue eyes thirstily.

Gil could just about make out the black lace panties through the sodden material and he gasped as his body responded in the most natural way. Reading the undisguised yearning in her gaze, he winked as he shifted her higher to him in an effort to avoid a repeat of his earlier embarrassment, and slowly carried her toward shelter.

Sara relished the challenge and wasn't going to play fair. Staring into the depth of his soul, she lowered her right hand from the back of his neck and touched his face with the tip of a trembling finger. She slowly brushed it along the smooth skin of his cheek just above of his beard and down onto his lips. She then brought her finger to her mouth and licked the rainwater off with her tongue.

Gil drew in a sharp breath as though branded by the touch. Every nerve endings ignited and his eyes darkened with badly-concealed was no point fighting the attraction; it was a losing battle. He froze on the spot and pulled her in tighter, covering her body with his as much as possible from the rain.

Sara looked down to his neck and teased her finger there. She slowly undid the third button of his shirt and slipped her cold, wet hand through the opening. Despite the sodden rain, he felt warm to the touch as she glided her hand over his breast to his fast beating heart. She felt his soft involuntary gasp on her face and smiled knowingly.

_Who's putty to whose hands now?_

She brought her gaze back up to his and her smile widened at the enthralled aching she saw there. They gazed in each other's eyes for the longest time, cut off from the rest of the world, the cold rain unable to douse their raging fire.

Gil just stood immobile in the pounding rain lost into the immensity of her enchanting brown eyes, watching intently the myriad of emotions reflected there. Despite the fact that he was panting hot shallow breaths onto her, he shivered.

"You cold?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.

Gil shook his head very softly. Sara's soft lips parted beckoningly and he lowered his face to hers. He kissed her softly at first and then more urgently. Sara was returning his kiss with fervour when the prolonged beeping of a passing car horn startled him, bringing him back from the abyss of her entrancing spell. He pulled back hesitantly and smiled at the unspoken promise shining in her eyes.

"Let's go home."

Sara nodded and ran her thumb under his right eye to wipe the rainwater that had pooled there. Trembling under her touch, Gil shook the water off his hair, splashing her with it. Despite the heat emanating from them, she began to shiver, her teeth clattering involuntarily at the rain. Gil rushed under cover of the bus shelter, never once breaking eye contact.

He set her down, dropping their shoes to the ground and rubbed her arms vigorously, trying to inject some warmth into her. He then stretched his arms back over his head doing a couple of wide circles as he worked the kicks out of his sore back and shoulders.

Sara snorted with laughter. "What's the matter, Superman? Lost your superpowers?"

He looked at her and winked. "It's the four pounds you put on – darling," he quipped with a chuckle. He looked around them and sighed. "We need to get home fast."

"Where's the fire?" she asked teasingly as she smoothed her wet hair away from her face.

Gil smiled and steadied her hands. He looked her deep in the eye and showed her exactly where the fire was.

Sara's breath caught. "You got your phone?" she whispered breathlessly.

He shook his head in the negative. Gil's movements were quick. He handed Sara her shoes. He wiped the sole of his feet on his pants legs and slipped his back on. He handed Sara his socks for her to dry her feet with. She pulled a bewildered face but giggled and used them anyway.

"I've misplaced it," he replied when he had finished. "I haven't missed it really. It'll turn up," he rattled off, jogging on the spot for warmth.

"In the meantime, what do we do?"

He looked around the vicinity for a bar, a restaurant or a telephone box but seeing neither, he pulled a facial shrug. "We could wait here until the rain stops." His lips twitched into a cheeky smile. "Or I could always carry you home."

"What? A piggyback ride? It would take the real superman to fly me all the way home, Gil."

"It's not that far." To her amused shake of the head, he added, "We'll wait here then; it's too late for a bus but a taxi's bound to come by at some point."

"At this time of night?" Sara made a dubious face. She then smiled as she caught the shimmering lights of the bateau-mouche on the opposite side of the river. "We could always go back to-" she nodded her head in that direction with a mischievous smile.

Gil followed her gaze. "No. No way. I'd rather wait here all night than show my face back there. I've suffered enough humiliation for one night. For the rest of my life." The sound of an approaching car splashing in the rain made him turn. "There's a car. I'll go flag it down."

"What?" Sara turned her head and squinted toward the bright headlights that illuminated the slippery roadway. "Gil, don't be silly. It's not even a taxi."

But Gil had already stepped out to the side of the road and was waving his arms at the approaching vehicle.

The car slowed down to a crawl and pulled up by the curb. Gil's initial enthusiasm all but disappeared and he sighed. He turned a wary face to Sara, lifting his shoulders in a helpless shrug and beckoned her over with a quick nod of the head.

Her eyes crinkling with laughter, Sara stepped out from the cover of the bus shelter and approached carefully.

The driver wound down the window a crack. She ran her eyes over Gil's glistening body appreciatively, lingering far too long over his chest before lowering the window all the way. She took in his wet tousled hair, sparkling blue eyes and wet clothes sticking to his toned body – months of trekking in Costa Rica did that to a man – and ran her tongue over her lips in appreciation as she brought her gaze back to his chest.

Gil leant a little more forward and down, placing his hands on the window ledge and seemingly puffing out his chest. His shirt lay opened revealing his tanned, hairy chest and he curled his lips into his best boyish smile. "Bonsoir."

Sara watched the exchange with goggle-eyed interest. Her eyes were literally out on stilts and her jaw hit the sidewalk. _Oh-my-god! The little weasel's flirting back!?!_

The car driver slowly brought her gaze up to Gil's face and flashed him her most dazzling smile. Dipping her head in greeting and totally ignoring Sara, she offered to help. "Bonsoir, Monsieur. On peut vous aider?"

"Oui, officer," Gil replied grinning back. "Euh…ma femme et moi, euh…"

The policewoman's face fell at the word 'femme'. Her gaze flitted briefly toward Sara uninterestedly.

_Yeah, that's right. I'm right here!_ Sara beamed her most beautiful, sexually-fulfilled smile. _I'm the wife. So hands off. He's mine, all mine. _

The woman then flicked her attention back onto Gil and sighed longingly. "Vous êtes anglais?"

"Américains," Sara chipped in breezily, possessively hooking her arm to her husband's. _He's mine._

Gil was still openly returning the policewoman's attention and Sara could only stand there, a mere witness to her husband's unabashed flirting as aghast, she watched him wink back at the woman cheekily.

Sara cleared her throat noisily and hissed under her breath, "What are you doing?"

He turned to Sara and shrugged in a matter of fact. "I think I'm in," he muttered back with bleary-eyes exuberance.

"On peut vous raccompagnier chez vous?" the policewoman asked Gil right on cue, offering them a ride home.

"Oui? Ah…euh.." Gil looked at Sara for confirmation and she shrugged her answer a little offhandedly. He turned back to the policewoman and nodded his head, grinning. "Merci. You see…j'ai oublié mon téléphone et…" he shrugged the rest of his explanation off with another apologetic boyish smile.

"Montez!" the woman then said.

Gil leaned over to open the back door of the police car for Sara, whispering in her ear as he did so, "Your chariot awaits, my dear."

Sara gaped at him in disbelief and shook her head despairingly. She gathered her dress and scooted up along the back seat. Gil followed her in, slammed the door noisily and made himself comfortable. He pulled his sodden shirt out of his waistband and then off his chest, fanning himself with it. Catching the policewoman's eye in the rearview mirror he gave her a small nod of the head in gratitude.

Sara leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Do try to keep your distance in the car, will you? I don't fancy a night in a French jail."

"Keep my distance?" he repeated, his tone amused, the flicker of a naughty grin tugging at his lips. "From you or from her?"

Sara moved closer still, until she was almost sitting on his lap. "I've only got two words for you, Gil Grissom," she breathed suggestively with a wide grin, placing her hand over his crotch. "Chien and maison."

* * *

A/N: In case you were wondering: chien – dog

maison – house.

More?


	8. Chapter 8

Sara could only gawk at the words _Police nationale_ inscribed in big bold black letters on the back of the Renault. Shaking her head in disbelief, she watched as the blue roof lights came on as it pulled away. She had never felt such embarrassment. She closed her eyes wearily, wondering whether any of their neighbours were still up, watching the spectacle.

She turned her wide, stunned eyes toward her husband and punched him hard in the shoulder when she caught him with his hand up, waving at the departing police car. Looking rather disgruntled, she narrowed her gaze at his profile and turned on her heels, headed straight for the big, wooden door to their apartment building. A thought entered her mind however and her lips pursed into a wicked smile. _Two can play that game, Gilbert._

"So you like a woman in uniform, huh?" she asked keeping her back to him, her hand on the handle.

Startled out of his daydream by her rather curt tone, Gil snapped his head round to her, unconsciously rubbing his sore arm and quirking a befuddled eyebrow. _What have I done now?!? _he wondered innocently._ I was merely thanking the kind, admittedly very attractive French police officer._

But try as she might Sara couldn't keep up the charade and her giggles soon betrayed her. "I won't wait up," she murmured slipping her right hand in his tuxedo jacket pocket and extracting the front door keys. Laughing, she looked back over her shoulders, waggled her eyebrows evocatively and slipped the oversized jacket off, letting it drop to the ground. Knowing she had his full attention, she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

His eyebrow half-way up his forehead, Gil stood still on the sidewalk completely gob smacked. How could his luck have changed so drastically in so little time?

"Well, are you coming, loverboy?" she asked, the door closing behind her.

Gil did a double take and quickly scrambled to the door before it clicked shut. He bent to pick up his jacket and stepped into the entrance lobby of their apartment building. As the door closed, the light filtering in from the street disappeared to be replaced by pitch-darkness. He felt on the wall for the light switch but the sound of Sara's echoing laughter and heels merrily clicking up the stairs halted his movement. He felt a shiver of excitement course through him. _Two can play that game, sweet Sara._

He turned his head toward the spiral, antique wooden staircase and waited with bated breath for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, the sight before him left him stunned. An apparition from heaven, she looked so formidably sexy.

Her giggles had gone and her expression was deadly serious. Sara was waiting for him half-way up to the first floor. Her left hand was demurely draped around the banister, the other slowly toying with the silk scarf around her neck as her eyes bore into his ardently. Seeing his burning ardour made her daring. She pulled one end of the scarf very, very slowly, revealing the expanse of her gorgeous throat. Her movements were deliberately languid, her mouth half-open in invitation, her eyes dark and wide with desire. She smiled a little shyly and let the scarf drop to the ground by her feet.

Gil's gaze never left her, the desire spilling out of his deep blue orbs. His breathing suspended and he stood mesmerised at the bottom of the stairs. She was such a wondrous turn-on. He wiped his mouth and chin with a shaky hand, checking for drooling and started to follow her up the stairs, as though reeled in. He picked up the scarf and brought it to his face. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, inhaling deeply her scent to quench the deep longing pulsating inside him. He repressed a shiver but remained still for a while, scarf pressed to his lips.

When he reopened his eyes, Sara hadn't moved from her spot. She was watching him intently feeling as aroused as he looked. The sensation made her act even more heatedly. She turned on her heels and trotted on up noisily to the first floor landing. There, she made a half-turn and unhurriedly itched up her dress to her thigh, revealing her toned tanned long legs. She kicked off one sandal very slowly and then the other so that they tumbled down the stairs to his feet.

Spellbound, Gil picked them up, keeping his gaze on her at all time.

Sara slowly lifted her arm up, bending it at the elbow so that it trailed down the back of her head. She reached her other hand across her chest and began to pull down the side zipper of her dress.

Gil swallowed hard, really hard and at breaking point, took off up the stairs taking them two at a time so he could finish what she was starting.

Sara had read him like an open book and was already well on her way to their front door. She was fumbling with putting the key in the lock when he finally caught up with her. He unceremoniously dropped his load to the floor and roughly grabbed her by the wrists, bringing her arms up above her head, keeping her turned away from him. He pinned her against the door with the weight of his body.

Sara gasped under his forcefulness, dropping the keys. She closed her eyes, automatically arching her back against him and dipped her head, granting him better access. This had been a long time coming and she was more than ready for him.

He was panting hard, hot breaths igniting her nape, his breathing ragged not because of the exertion of running up two floors but because of her sexy, almost raunchy striptease. God, he was so turned on he was ready to burst. He pressed himself harder against her body, his erection teasing the dip in her back he was so fond of. Groaning, he closed his eyes and tried to swallow back his heady passion – in vain. Suddenly overcome by his all-consuming hunger, he devoured her neck, nibbling the soft skin behind her ear, making her moan in careless abandon.

Still gripping her wrists above her, he turned her round toward him. Rocked back on her heels, Sara felt his hands slip into her hair and cradle her head as he pressed her further against the door. His breaths came faster and faster against her upper lip as his kisses moved to her mouth. His left hand roamed down to her leg before sliding under her dress and up her thigh to the wetness of her sex.

Taken by surprise by the intrepid passion his arousal was fuelling, Sara took a sharp intake of breath and pushed herself on her tiptoes, parting her legs invitingly. She groaned into his mouth as he roughly pulled her knickers down mid-thigh. She quickly shook them down to the floor so she could part her legs further. He began to stroke her inner thigh teasing his way to her curls but never once making contact.

Sara was begging for his touch. She writhed down against him, grinding herself against his hand, the heady cocktail of physical sensations so overwhelming that she moaned aloud. His mouth was on her throat, kissing it, licking it and then he moved hungrily down to her breast, cupping it to him, bringing it to his mouth through the gossamer fabric of her dress.

Sara gasped, ready to take it to the next level. In a flash of lucidity, she pulled back, breathing, "Not out here," to the top of his head. He looked up at her questioningly, his eyes bleary with unconsummated love. Sara covered his mouth with her hand and pushed him back away from her, checking for neighbour activity.

His eyes refocused enough to convey his understanding and without a word he bent down to pick up the keys off the doormat and hurriedly brushed past her hips to unlock the door. Laughing, they fell inside their apartment, Gil pushing the door shut with his foot.

His lips hit hers full force, his hands pressing her cheeks so that her mouth yielded into the most exquisite opening to be filled with the cool, muscular slither of his tongue. Sara moaned into him and coiled her hot, greedy tongue to his. Walking backwards, she tugged him toward the bedroom by the shirt, clumsy eager fingers racing to undo the rest of the buttons while he fumbled frustratingly with the cufflinks.

Soon the shirt fell discarded to the floor and lips still glued to his, Sara attacked the belt of his pants, lowering the zipper. In one swift movement she pulled his pants and boxers down to his thighs.

Gil let a low moan at his newly-found deliverance and pulled back from her to kick off his shoes and pants. He stood in the nude by the mirror, a heavenly vision to behold. Sara's eyes flicked to the reflection of his tight ass, highlighted by the glow of the streetlights filtering in through the open window and she swallowed back her throbbing yearning.

There was no way Gil could keep this frenetic pace. If he didn't slow things right down they would be over before…God, it didn't bear thinking about. Panting hard, he took a tentative step back and stared into her eyes for a moment, willing his breathing, heartbeat and aching in the pit of his stomach to calm. Then he languorously trailed his gaze down her face, her throat, settling on her dress. _The dress._ He looked up at her and raised a quizzical brow.

Sara's lips curled into a soft smile. Without words, she lifted both arms up over her head, crossing them at the wrists and closed her eyes surrendering herself to him.

Gil gulped at her sex-appeal and took a step closer. He pulled the side zipper down all the way, lowered her arms and delicately pushed both straps down her shoulders. He stood back drawing in a breath as the dress slithered down, crumpling to her feet, revealing Sara in all her naked splendour.

His breath caught. She was more beautiful every single time. Looming tall and proud over her but suddenly a little shy and hesitant, he ran his eyes the length of her body, devouring her with the intensity of his gaze. "Oh, God Sara," he groaned. "You're just so beautiful." She was literally driving him wild with desire and once more spellbound he remained rooted to the spot.

Sara reopened her eyes and smiled shyly at his words, their lovemaking generally just as intense but far less risqué. She dropped her gaze to the floor, suddenly self-conscious under all the attention.

Gil stepped nearer and reached out a hand, tilting her chin up. He smiled tenderly and cupped her cheek with his hand and Sara leaned into his touch, looking into the depth of his soul. What she saw there rendered her speechless but audacious. She wound her arms tightly around his neck, pulling her to him. He moved his hands to grab her ass, supporting her weight as she curled her long legs around his midriff.

His body moulded to hers perfectly and his face buried in her breasts, he carried her to their bed.

Sara gasped as his insistent pulse tickled the core of her cervix and she arched her back to him in abandon. "Take me," she groaned into his neck.

Her words ignited him like gasoline to a flame. He lowered her onto the bed but froze on top of her, the loud, impatient and intrusive…very intrusive banging on their front door disturbing his usually-unflappable concentration.

Ignoring the interruption, Sara reached up pulling him to her lips. Gil moaned in appreciation and returned her delicious ministrations with a few of his own.

The banging doubled in intensity and Gil cursed under his breath, turning his head toward the door as he heard a muttering of French expletives, which he didn't understand. "Vos vêtements, merde. Et sans parler des gémissements. Ça la fout mal quand même! A l'heure qu'il est!" Something about abandoned clothes and moans and groans…and the time of night.

"Ignore it," Sara purred, slipping her tongue in his ear.

"I can't," Gil snapped irritably, annoyed at the interruption. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. 1.45 am. "It could be important."

"At this time of night?" She gently turned his head toward her, pulling him back down onto her breasts. "Come on Gil, whatever it is can wait. I can't."

The banging stopped but the mood had shifted and she could feel his previously taut penis soften. Sara had to seize the initiative. She had to do it fast.

Gil let a small gasp of bewildered surprise at her touch, closing his eyes with a drawn-out moan.

"Would you like me to stop?" Sara asked in a tantalising whisper. She stroked her hand the length of his shaft down to his soft downy balls and cupped them gently.

"No." Gil shifted and rolled onto his back.

"What was that?" she asked moving to kiss the spot where her hand was stroking him.

"No. Don't stop," he begged with a gasp, writhing deeper into the mattress. "Please, don't stop."

She didn't. He arched his back and Sara took immense pleasure in pleasuring him. When she knew he was at the cusp, she stopped and slowly brushed her lips up to his navel. She then straddled her legs around him, tantalisingly trapping his erection near her nether region and continued kissing up his chest, curling her tongue to his nipples.

"I love it when you make love to me," he gasped, looking down to her in adoration. His voice was hoarse and soft at the same time. It was an incredible turn on.

She looked up toward his face and smiled. "I know." She continued making sweet love to him until he couldn't take it anymore.

Gil, who had been trying to run his fingers through her rain-tangled hair, reared up and pulled her up to kiss her throat, almost pulling her head off in the process as he let out a low growl of pleasure.

Sara winced.

"Sorry," he breathed gruffly. He pulled her face up to his and kissed her hungrily on the lips. Disentangling his fingers, he ran his hands down to her bottom and pulled her higher onto his stomach. His hands were on her breast now, alternately teasing her nipples, palming the soft flesh around them, bringing them to his mouth.

Sara closed her eyes, letting the sensations take over. She arched her back, moved down his body and slipped him inside her. It was delicious.

His gaze caught hers and he shook his head. Seeing assent in her eyes, he slid out from inside and under her leaving her on her hands and knees. "Stay like this," he commanded. He stood up by the edge of the bed behind her, placed his hands on her hips and slowly pulled her to him. He ran his hand the length of her spine and Sara shivered as she peered over her shoulder in lustful anticipation.

He closed his eyes, feeling his way in and began to pound hard into her, sliding a finger to stroke where his penis could not reach. He stretched his other hand to hold her neck, increasing his momentum.

Suddenly the distracting, enthusiasm-sapping, gloomy strands of Mozart's Requiem filled the room, resonating loudly through the thin walls. But to no avail. Nothing could dampen Gil's spirit now. He was home. Well, almost.

And then she was coming, loud and hard, screaming in ecstasy. And as her crescendo waned he allowed himself his release and he filled her as never he had before.

Panting hard and laughing as the music stopped as suddenly as it had started, he fell on top of her, pressing light kisses to her sweaty back, inhaling the sweet smell of musk radiating from her.

Sara was panting and laughing too. She collapsed under his weight and turned over as he pushed himself up on his forearms. His cheeks were soaked with a red wine flush, his mouth smiling in amazement. His smile turned tender as he brushed back a tendril of damp curly hair from her eyes. He didn't need words to convey his love and adoration for her, his eyes carried the message.

Exhausted, Sara stretched up an arm to pull him down for one more kiss before slowly scooting up, nude atop the covers at the head of the bed. He joined her, slipping one arm under her neck, the other resting over her warm belly as they made a comfortable spoon, the soft breeze drafting in from the open window cooling their fire.

* * *

A/N: I'm thinking a couple more chapters and then…Please, please, leave a comment, let me know if you're still reading, especially after this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: A note about my choice of Mozart's Requiem in the previous chapter. The reason I chose that particular piece of music was _because _it absolutely DID NOT fit "the mood of frenzied sex" depicted in that chapter. Hence the use of enthusiasm-sapping, gloomy music that the pissed-off neighbour would want to play to dampen Gil's spirited performance and kill the mood. I appreciate it is a religious piece and didn't mean any offence by it. :-)

* * *

The quiet, insistent ringing of her cell phone woke Sara with a start. She was nuzzling to Gil, encased in the snug haven in the crook of his arm, her arm laying indolently over his chest. She turned her head and peered over the covers squinting at the digital clock on the bedside table. It read 12.30.

Somehow they had found their way under the covers and Sara lingered in the warm cocoon a little longer. Despite it being midday the room was pitch black. Her lips curled into a smile as she recalled Gil's bowtie flying out of the open window the previous afternoon; Gil must have got up at some point in the night and close the wooden shutters as well as the window, blanking out any light.

Beside her, Gil slept soundly, breathing warm low snores, turned on his side toward her. A dreamy smile adorned his lips. Sara gently ran her fingers in the curls of his hair, forgetting all about her cell ringing. Not for long. She sighed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and swung a bare leg out of bed. The ringing stopped and she smiled, glad she wouldn't have to leave the sanctity of the warm bed just yet. She pulled the covers back over her and watched as his chest slowly rose and fell with every breath. Her smile turned longing and she snuggled up closer to him. She draped her arm over him and wrapped herself around him, intent on waking him up very, _very_ gently.

Gil sighed in his sleep, automatically adjusting his position to fit her into him. Sara was about to gently brush her lips onto his when her phone rang again. Sara cursed softly and carefully extricated herself out of his tight embrace, wary of waking him. She shivered and reached for her robe from the back of the Louis XVI battered chaise she had found at the _Marché aux Puces_ and was planning to restore and reupholster. She listened for the origin of the muffled ringing and located her cell in the pocket of her old black leather jacket.

She frowned. The display had a '00-33-702' international code to France and Vegas number flashing on it but not one she recognised off hand. But somehow, she knew she had to take that call, however much she wanted to ignore it. A chill ran through her as she glanced back at her still sleeping husband as he shifted onto his other side, and quickly made her way to the adjoining bathroom to take the call.

She flipped the phone open and cleared her throat. "Hello?" she murmured cautiously.

"Sidle? Oh good, at last! I was beginning to wonder whether the two of you had fallen off the face of the earth." The man let out a low uneasy chuckle at his own joke. "Anyway, Sara, hi. It's-"

"Ecklie," she cut in with a sigh. Sara felt a tightening of her gut at the way he had called her Sidle. The man was an ass. She turned her gaze toward the bedroom and checked on her husband. Gil was still sleeping soundly, unaware and she smiled to herself longingly as she watched him for a short moment.

Ecklie broke the lengthy silence with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat and Sara pushed the bathroom door shut. "Did I catch you at a bad time?" he continued. To give him his due, he sounded genuinely contrite. "I thought France was seven hours ahead. It should be lunchtime where you are." He paused. "You weren't sleeping, were you?"

Sara closed her eyes and rubbed them wearily wondering whether she should just hang up on him. Could she simply blame it on a bad long-distance connection? But something in his tone stopped her. "Huh?" She shook herself out of her reverie. "It's…Sunday, Conrad. We had a late night." She paused, leaning against the basin and sighed. "This isn't a social call, is it?"

"No." There was another awkward silence and then Ecklie cleared his throat again, dispensing with the usual pleasantries. "I tried calling Grissom over the last week but all I get is his voicemail and he doesn't seem to be picking up his messages because I've left plenty. So I thought I'd try yours instead."

Well, the man was insistent, she'd grant him that. She frowned. _Grissom?_ "He doesn't need to so much anymore," she said by way of an explanation. And she liked it that way. Then suddenly it hit her and her face fell; she knew what this call was about. "Surely you're not calling because you want him back, are you?" she asked her tone suddenly curt and cold. _Not now, please. Not when we're so happy. Not when we're building a new life for ourselves._

"Well, to be brutally honest – yes. For a little while anyway, until things pick up." He paused expecting maybe that Sara would fill the silence but gob-smacked at the man's gall, she was lost for words. "You see, Catherine's not coping well at all," he added. "The lab's not what it used to be. I won't beat around the bush here Sara but…we're slipping."

He needn't say more; she knew exactly what he meant. _Slipping in the rankings._ The reputation of the lab was in question; hell, his reputation was in question and he couldn't have that happen, could he? That's why he needed Grissom's help. Sara bit her tongue, keeping her thoughts unvoiced. "Listen, Conrad," she said eventually as diplomatically as she could. "Your timing's not the best."

"Well, Riley's timing wasn't the best either," he said rather curtly. "She left us in the lurch. Langston's not experienced enough to work the tougher cases solo; nightshift has a backlog of cases that they can't hope to clear anytime soon and the sheriff's breathing down my neck to sort this mess out."

_Riley?_ _Oh, yeah, that's right. The girl who replaced Warrick. Well no. No one could ever replace him._ Her heart suddenly heavy and pained, Sara took a deep breath. "Gil's only just started here; term's beginning in a couple of weeks' time. There's no way he can afford to take time off now. He's still finding his feet. He needs to-"

"Can I speak to him, please?" he interrupted impatiently. "Hear it straight from the horse's mouth?"

"Not right now, no," she countered defensively.

"Can you at least pass on a message? Ask him to call me back at his convenience? He has all my numbers."

Sara closed her eyes. "What did you have in mind, Conrad?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's a simple enough question to answer."

"I was thinking – hoping – that maybe he could help us bridge the gap until we can find a replacement for Riley."

What does one reply to that? Nothing. She knew that if Ecklie spoke to Gil directly and if he mentioned even in passing that Catherine was in effect _struggling_ with the job, he'd do anything in his powers to help even if it meant postponing the start of his lectures a few weeks.

It was all happening too fast. "How long for?"

She could hear Ecklie's mind process this new titbit of information with interest. That it wasn't the resounding 'No' he had first feared. "A few weeks. A month, two at the most," he replied with newly-found enthusiasm. "As I said, just enough time to clear the backlog or just help out with the paperwork. He wouldn't even need to get in the field." He paused. "Do you think he'd do it?"

_I know he'd do it and without even thinking twice about it._ She sighed. "I know someone he could recommend to you – maybe."

"You do?"

"Yeah," she replied. _A month at the most. _No more. She could do that. It could be good for her. Four weeks apart wouldn't be too long, would it? "But there would be conditions."

"Absolutely – no problems. Do you have a number I can call them on?"

"You've just called her. I mean, if you'd be happy to have _me_ back, of course. I'm no Grissom."

"You?" The disbelief was evident in his tone. "I…I thought when you left there was no turning back, that you were done with CSI."

"So did I, but people change." _Or situations change them._

"They do." There was a short pause as Ecklie thought about Sara's proposal and then she heard him chuckle to himself. "The lab would love to have you back, Sara. Thank you. This is a big weight off my mind. I wasn't looking forward to having to talk to Catherine about her mismanagement of Riley and of the state of the nightshift and maybe now I won't have to. Especially as you know everyone and how we work. In fact you will be an asset to us, Sara." He paused. "When can you come? When can you start?"

All of a sudden Sara felt scared that she had, to all intent and purposes, almost accepted without discussing it first with Gil. Ecklie was taking this as a fait accompli; like she had already agreed. The urgency and the speed of the conversation had blown her away. And now she could only wonder at the motivations behind her even suggesting herself for the job. Was she doing it because she didn't want her husband to do it himself? Was she doing it because she wanted to help Catherine and the guys out? Or did she feel the need to prove something to herself?

She needed to do some back-pedalling and fast. "I need to talk it over with Gil first," she stammered. "I can't make this decision on my own. Can I call you back tomorrow?"

Ecklie sounded taken aback by the sudden change of mood when he replied a cautious, "Sure." There was a apuse. "Oh…and Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for doing this. I'll be…waiting for your call then. You'd be doing me and Catherine a great favour." Sara remained silent, stunned by what had just occurred. "Au revoir," Ecklie greeted cheerfully, ending the call.

Sara just clicked the phone shut, her mind swirling with a thousand and one thoughts. She needed to think. On autopilot, she tossed the phone on the shelf over the washbasin. Then, she opened the cabinet underneath it and got out a sponge, rubber gloves and cleaning products. Mindless scrubbing would quiet her mind and help her make sense of the situation. After all, she could still decline the offer, couldn't she?

She pulled on the gloves and squirted far too much _Mr Propre_ inside the tub, kneeling down as she pushed the sleeves of her robe up to her elbow. She started her frenzied scrubbing. When the whole bathroom was gleaming and she still couldn't hear any movement coming from next door she sat down heavily on the edge of the bidet nowhere near any idea how she would broach the topic with her husband.

The door opened and Gil strolled in, naked and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He found Sara in her robe, clad in her rubber gloves, sponge in hand and deep in thought, and smiled sleepily, tenderly before doing a double take. "You're cleaning?" he asked the surprise and disbelief evident in his voice. She hadn't cleaned like this in a very long time and Gil suddenly grew worried.

Sara didn't respond. Her eyes were turned in his direction but it was as though she was looking through him. She was a million miles away from Paris. From France. She was already back in Vegas.

He lifted the toilet lid and seat up in one swift movement and turned away. "Sara? You mind?"

"Huh?" She shook herself out of her daze and refocused enough to turn her head away while he availed himself of the facilities.

"Sara?" he asked with a quick look in her direction while running his hands under the tap. She looked up and tried a smile, not quite succeeding. "Is everything all right?"

Her smile widened at his concerned tone. She nodded. "I'm sorry; I was... I'm fine." She tried very hard to force a genuine smile but it came out more a grimace. She looked down toward her hands and peeled the gloves off. "I love you," she whispered.

Gil frowned, then kneeled down in front of her and watched her for a moment. "And I love you," he said catching and holding her gaze. He reached over and wiped a little foam from the corner of her eye with his finger. "Honey, what's up?" he asked tenderly. His gaze wandered to the discarded cell phone on the shelf above the basin and his frown deepened. "Someone called?"

Sara followed his gaze and stared at the phone. She then flashed him a quick grin as she shook her head 'No' in reply. "I was thinking about last night," she said after a while. "It was the best night of my life." Her eyes filled with tears and she looked down.

He placed a gentle finger under her chin and tilted it up. The sad look in her eyes betrayed her smile. "Sara? Honey, what is it? Talk to me."

She made a conscious effort at brightened up and then she sighed with a wistful smile. "I was thinking about Hank. I can't wait for us to get him back from quarantine."

Gil chuckled. "I bet he can't wait either."

Sara became pensive. Gil took her hand in his and ran his finger over it absently. Something was bothering her, he could tell, and it wasn't Hank. But he had learned over the years that the best way to get Sara to confide was not to push her. So he didn't. "Honey, we have another day of peace and quiet left before the beast's return. Come back to bed, it's still early."

She looked up toward him, grateful for his thoughtfulness. She would find a way to tell him about Ecklie's call. But not just yet. It was Sunday, after all. "I was going to take a shower," she said with a grin. "Freshen up a little, wash my hair, you know?" she asked mischievously.

Gil looked at the tub with interest, stood up and leaned across to turn the taps on full. He pulled the knob redirecting the water to the overhanging showerhead. "Mind if I join you?" he asked. "I'm told I give a mean, earth-shattering head massage."


	10. Chapter 10

After their delectable shower, Gil had donned on his faded blue jeans, a navy polo shirt and his training shoes dispensing with the customary socks and had run down to the local _boulangerie_ for pains au chocolat and Sara's beloved brioche before the bakery shut for the day.

He had promptly returned not only laden with the promised _friandises_ but also Friday's copy of USA TODAY and some French magazines for Sara. Finding the clothes they had discarded the previous night still on the doorstep certainly was a bonus. The fact that there was a note attached to it not so much. That the note was written in bad, quite uncomplimentary English made it even worse.

Gil tossed the papers and the note on the bed to Sara and quickly went to the kitchen to prepare a breakfast tray for them to share in bed. He returned to hear her resounding incredulous laughter fill the room. "We'll never live this down," she said. "I'm just hoping he's not one of your students."

The look Gil cast her was one of pure horror. They had chosen to live near the Sorbonne because it had an academic, bohemian feel to it after all. "Nooo. God, that's all I need."

Gil pored over the papers as he ate and Sara was dozing while listening to _France Bleue_ on the radio when she suddenly opened her eyes, turning her head toward Gil. "You know tomorrow, to celebrate Hank's return we could take him on a picnic. I was thinking we could take a walk in the Bois de Vincennes with him. I hear there's a lot of _wildlife_. You both should feel right at home there."

Gil was propped up on his elbow and he looked up from the article about a shooting in Wyoming he was half-way reading. He smiled at her gentle jibe and removed the reading glasses that were resting on the tip of his nose. "He'd like that." He furrowed his brow, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Do you think he's going to recognise us?"

Sara puffed out with laughter. "Silly."

Gil shrugged and reached across to tap her nose playfully. Sara pulled back and Gil surged, stretching over her and trapping her under him.

And that's pretty much how they spent the rest of their Sunday; laughing in bed and dropping crumbs amidst unfinished crosswords and creased sheets, Sara never quite finding a way to tell him about the graveyard shift's problems in Vegas.

* * *

The Bois de Vincennes was everything a man and his dog could dream of but it was busy so Gil and Sara decided to go off away from the crowds and the children. They soon found an isolated clearing and set everything down for their picnic. Most importantly, the set the beast free.

"Something's bothering you Sara. I can tell," Gil said casually glancing toward Sara as he munched on the last of his baguette sandwich.

She stopped mid-chew. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged. "Call it a hunch?"

Sara finished swallowing her food and sighed. "Quasimodo had one of those and look where that got him."

"He was in love with Esmeralda but he couldn't have her."

Sara understood the double-entendre and knew he was trying to cheer her. She fixed her gaze on Hank foraging in the distance. It would be easier to say what she had to say if she didn't have to look at him and see his reaction. "I got a call from Ecklie."

Gil carried on munching unhurriedly as he processed the information. _If it was bad or urgent, she'd have told me straightaway._ Then he slowly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "When? Yesterday? The cleaning, that was him?"

Sara turned and looked at him. The wary sadness in his gaze twisted her stomach and she put down the tomato she had been eating. She gave him a slow nod of the head in reply.

"Do you need to go back? Testify on an old case?" he asked running his hands over his face. "I'll come with you."

"No." It was barely a whisper but it silenced him. Sara took both his hands in hers, stilling them. "He's been trying and unable to reach _you_ so he tried me. Grave's short staffed again and…" She then relayed the rest of the conversation.

He remained flabbergasted for a moment. "You're doing this for me?"

"No." Sara shook her head and brushed her finger over his bearded cheek, smiling. "No. I think maybe I'm doing this for me. I think…I need to prove to myself that I can still do it."

Sara didn't need to explain; he knew exactly what she meant. "You _can_ do it," he said with conviction.

Sara was looking down, sitting on the blanket, her legs crossed Indian-style and Gil shifted his position so he was facing her. He wrapped his legs around her and took her hands in his. She was about to say something else when he placed his finger on her lips.

"I've only one condition, Sara." His smile was tentative, a little shy even and he looked down, watching as he fiddled nervously with the band on her ring finger. "That you don't leave before your birthday." He looked up and pinched his lips when he saw she had tears in her eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and smiled broadly. "I was thinking…I have a week off mid-term at the end of October. So if you're not back by then, I could always…"

Sara leaned across him and cut him off with a kiss. "You're the best husband a girl could ever dream of catching."

Gil chuckled smugly and grinned cheekily. "I am, aren't I?" He paused and his smile turned wistful. "I will miss you though."

Sara didn't reply but nodded, lost in the intensity of his gaze. He leaned across and kissed her softly on the lips.

"C'est votre chien? Cette bête?" The tone was curt and angry startling both Gil and Sara. What had Hank been up to now? They snapped their heads apart and up at the same time and looked at the woman with amazement, matching puzzled brow lifted in enquiry.

Sara brought her hand up to shield her eyes, squinting up at the woman who had spoken. Her gaze wandered from the woman's immaculately made-up face to her perfectly French-manicured hand daintily holding a pink leather leash clipped to the collar of a very tall white and clearly pampered French poodle. Pooch and mistress were wearing matching summer coats.

Gil began to openly chuckle at the situation and Sara nudged him in the shoulder. Her gaze flicked from the woman and her dog to Hank and she tried very hard to repress her giggles but couldn't help the grin tugging at her mouth. _Who's been a bad boy now, huh?_

The woman's other hand was forcefully holding Hank by his collar. He was obediently sat on his hind legs by her feet, his tail wagging wildly against the grass. He was panting heavily and holding his head to the side. The eyes and folds around his mouth were drooping more than usual as though he was deliberately trying to look utterly repentant, seemingly apologising for whatever mischief he had created.

Wide-eyed, Sara looked at Hank and shook her head despairingly. He whimpered, truly contrite at his overzealousness. She sighed and flashed a beautiful grin at the woman. "Je m'excuse, madame, mais oui, c'est…notre chien. Il s'appelle Hank." After explaining that he was totally harmless and a generally well-behaved dog, she went on to apologise for the fact that they chose not to keep him on a leash as he had spent the last few weeks confined in a small cage while in quarantine.

The lady made a sad 'Ooohhh' sound and bent down to give Hank an affectionate rub behind the ears. Gil got up, smiling and clipped the leash back onto Hank's collar, promising to keep him in check. "Merci, madame. On va mieux le surveiller."

The woman smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgement, leaving. Her poodle gave Hank one final regretful glance and begrudgingly followed.

Gil looked at Hank and frowned. "She was rather eye-catching, wasn't she?" he asked the boxer. "Come on, give us your paw." The dog lifted his paw obediently and placed it into Gil's extended hand. "Good boy," Gil praised, stooping down to give the dog a good all over rub.

"Come on, you two," Sara said getting up and gathering their belongings and the blanket. "Let's go for a walk."

Gil smiled "Bonne idée" and helped her tidy up. When they finished, he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, his left one holding on to Hank's leash and he squeezed her toward him playfully, planting a kiss on her temple. "Let's go off the beaten track. Keep him away from temptation," he chuckled. He bent down to unclip the leash with a wink toward Hank. "Behave. No pursuing of the ladies or else. Understood?"

Hank replied with a joyous bark and a grateful lick of Gil's hand. Sara laughed. "Come on. Off you go. Explore."

Hank didn't need to be told twice. He soon wandered off down the narrow track to give chase to a reckless rabbit but soon stopped to sniff a whole new set of foreign smells. This was dog heaven. Every so often, he would come bounding back to make sure Gil and Sara were still following, give them a happy bark and run back on ahead gleefully.

Gil and Sara were just content to stroll along, hand in hand. They were both silent, lost in their own musings.

"Where does he get all his energy from?" Gil asked suddenly as he watched Hank once more leap out of the undergrowth. He chuckled out loud. "He reminds me of that Capuchin monkey in Sirena, you remember?" Sara turned her head toward him and nodded with a smile. "He'd scramble down from the tallest branch at the speed of light, nick whatever food he'd spotted and climb back up so fast we could never hope to catch him."

Sara laughed but remained silent, her mind wandering back to the weeks in Costa Rica after Gil's surprised arrival. So much had happened since. Her life couldn't get better than what she had now and yet she was leaving it – leaving him again. Except this time, they both knew she would be coming back to him. She involuntary tightened her hold on his hand as they carried on walking.

Gil turned toward her and watched the shadows clouding her eyes and let out a small sigh as he squeezed her hand back affectionately. They walked on in companionable silence until they got to a fork in the track.

Gil frowned and turned his head back, left and right, scanning the area for Hank. He whistled for the dog who swiftly replied with a joyful bark and came out bounding from a bush up ahead on the track to their right. He gave a series of loud barks at Gil and Sara, circling back toward the bush, seemingly telling them to come quickly before disappearing back where he had come from.

"He's found something," Gil said. "Come on, let's go take a look." Gil took off running, tugging Sara along with him.

When they got there, Hank was clasping a small black furry animal in his jaw by the scruff of the neck.

"Hank, drop it!" Sara cried, quickly crouching down in front of the dog. He whimpered his discontent but did as he was told. "It's a kitten, Gil."

Gil kneeled down next to Sara and studied the poor creature. "It's in bad shape but it's still alive." He picked it up and gave it a good warming rub, fluffing the damp matted fur.

"How people can do that is beyond me. Abandon it like that, just to die."

Hank barked happily at his find and Sara reached over to stroke the fluffy ball that fitted perfectly in Gil's large hand. She hesitated and looked up toward her husband with wide pleading eyes, shrugging inquiringly. He smiled in understanding but kept quiet.

"We can't leave it here," she pleaded. "Either it'll die of starvation or worse, a fox'll get to it. Either way, it won't live through the night."

Gil pursed his lips meditatively but they both knew the kitten wouldn't be spending another night in the woods. "I guess he could keep Hank company while I'm working and you're away," Gil mused a little tentatively. "Do you think you can trust three males under the same roof?"

Sara stretched up and kissed his cheek softly, whispering, "Je t'aime."

* * *

A/N: A nice fluffy ending. Well, I think so, anyway. I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading. :-)


End file.
